


"The past is never where you think you left it"

by Flofliflou



Series: If Only [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bullying, Cancer, Caring, Childhood Memories, Depression, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Mention of child abuse (but not to the main characters), Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flofliflou/pseuds/Flofliflou
Summary: Most wounds heal. More often than not they simply leave scars that we end up forgetting are even there. But what about those we cannot see? Those indelible wounds that are ready to be ripped open at the most unpredictable moments, unforgivingly breaking us down.Those wounds never truly disappear, and they have the power of weighting in the back of our mind, nagging at us with a sense of dread, suffocating us.Viktor and Yuuri have settled down after retiring and getting married and their life couldn’t be happier as it revolves around their adorable daughter, coaching two of the best skaters in the world, and each other. Surrounded by their loved ones and friends, they live each day to its fullest with seemingly not a worry in the world.It takes being very close to be able to notice the cracks and bumps in the flawless performance.Most wounds heal. But some never really do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! First fanfic ever! I don't know if I'm more excited or anxious about this, but regardless I'm really looking forward to see how this goes!  
> Also I'm really bad at tags: I spent way longer than I thought I would figuring out how the thing works! So for now there's that, and if anything changes, I'll definitely mention it beforehand!!

The door of the attic creaks open, and a tiny little girl pops her head from behind it. Both of her hands still clenched on the knob, warily peaking inside as if she was afraid a ghost might be hidden somewhere. Nothing in sight though, and she finally lets go of the door. She glances around, curiosity starting to override her initial fear, as she starts wandering here and there.

She has heard Papa talking about stuffed animals being in the attic, and she just couldn’t leave them there. They would be sad if they had to stay up there alone. That’s why she has made it her mission to rescue them from the cold and somber attic. 

Now that she is up there though, she isn’t as confident as she has been before climbing the last flight of stairs of the house. Standing close to the door still, she swallows as she takes in her surroundings.   
Mostly it’s dark, and there are boxes and furniture everywhere. From the skylights falls a dull and fainting sunlight as the day is coming to an end, casting eerie shadows on the ground. Her little face wrinkles as her apprehension makes her mind spinning. She clenches her fists in tight balls, gathering her courage and lets out a sharp breath. 

She can do this, the teddy bears’ safety is depending on it. She draws closer to a box on her left, making sure she doesn’t get too far away from the door still.   
Just in case.   
She touches the side of the cardboard with two fingers, lifting it up as fast as she can before bolting away. Nothing comes out though, so she gets closer again and slowly tries to look inside. Nothing but rectangular boxes with the colorful and familiar faces of animated characters on it. No teddy bears. 

Disappointed, she turns around to the next box, and repeats the same ritual. As she goes through several of such boxes, she starts getting impatient, and her previous apprehension starts wearing off, before being completely forgotten altogether. The five year-old ends up falling on the ground, cross-legged and crossed arms, with a pout on her face. They should be there, why can’t she find them? 

She considers leaving the attic for a few seconds.   
If she can’t find them, how can she rescue them? Her eyes are downcast as she considers her options, and she doesn’t notice how the luminosity in the room has considerably decreased, almost reduced to nothing. She has been up there for so long, that the sun is now set, but her vision has adapted. Still too caught up in her own thinking, she doesn’t realize it either, when a small figure makes its way through the door left ajar, and approaches her. 

She finally makes up her mind, and sets her hands on the floor, using them as support to get up. Which she does in one little jump, and steps forward toward a box she hasn’t gone through yet. 

As she reaches out to lift the plastic lid of the black box in front of her, she hears panting and freezes. Immediately after, something brushes against her naked legs, and her face loses all its colors, going pale as a sheet. Wide-eyed, she jumps out of her skin, screaming. She snaps around, trying to get away from the obviously horrible monster that just tried to eat her, and falls back on the floor, taking the box down with her, spilling its content all around her. 

Not that she cares much about that though, as she tries to make out whatever it is that attacked her. Her eyes falls on a black figure, sitting right across from her, with its tongue out of its mouth and its head tilted on the side. She releases the breath she had been holding and her entire body goes lump from the stress leaving her body. 

Her puppy is staring right at her, waiting to see what this game of falling is all about. The little girl chuckles, and straightens up a bit. Now sitting in a front split, she taps her hands on the floor in front of her. 

“Misha! Come here girl” she coos, as a bright smile replaces the fear on her face. The black Finnish lapphund puppy barks happily, and scampers toward her little master who welcomes her with wide arms. The little girl snuggles close in her dog’s fluffy fur, shaking off the last of her panic as she lets out a soft laugh when the puppy licks her face eagerly. 

“You scared me you know. I thought you were a terrible monster” she tells the dog who continues her staring, snorting cheerfully with her tongue out, and being in fact the exact opposite of anything even remotely frightening. 

The five-year old, seems to realize that she is sitting in the middle of a mess and she darts her eyes over all the papers that have fallen out of the box. Pulling one leg back towards her, she scrambles around trying to have a better look at what those papers are. She squints, and ducks down slowly to make up for the absence of light. She cocks her head, as she realizes that these are pictures. A lot of them, all splayed out on the wooden floor for her to see. She stares, mesmerized by the mosaic that has randomly taken shape in front of her. She haphazardly takes one, and nears it to her face so as to make out the moment it captures. Her eyes widen as she takes note of what it is. A smile creeps up on her face, echoing the one that shines on the silver-headed little boy standing on the ice with his arms crossed behind his back. 

She hears hurried footsteps coming from outside the door, all the way across the room, but she has her protector now, and the pictures are too interesting for her to consider looking up as a viable option. 

“Ana, Malyshka are you alright?” a panicked voice blurts from the bottom of the stairs, followed by heavy steps literally flying through the stairs. 

The door swings open, and the tall and slender figure takes in the dark room, trying to spot where the scream has come from. Absolutely not perturbed, the little girl doesn’t even make any attempt to make herself known and continues foraging through the photographs. 

When the newcomer finally sets his eyes on the red-headed little girl, he lets out a slight sigh laced with fond exasperation. Leaning on the doorway, he crosses his arms and silently observes the child softly speaking with her puppy. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and he quirks an amused eyebrow when she suddenly snaps around and exclaims propping up the picture she had been examining: “Papa, is this you?”

He chuckles, and steps forward toward his daughter. Bending down, with his hands on his knees he doesn’t need to look at the picture to know what he will see. The boxes full of childhood pictures have been stashed away up here a while ago, and this one is entirely reserved to his own childhood. His husband’s should be around somewhere, easily recognizable due to its white lid. He sits down next to his baby girl, reaching out his hands to grab her under her arms and sitting her in the space between his legs. His arms hug her tight from behind while he gently presses his chin on the top of her head. 

“That was one of the first times I tried ice skating” he tells her, his voice barely louder than a whisper. She perks up at the comment. 

“Really? You tried this early?” she chirps, looking up to meet his face.

“You are already skating, Malyshka,” he laughs, “I was only one year younger than you on that picture” he adds nudging toward the photograph in her hands. She hums in understanding, her gaze falling back on the smiling little boy, forever frozen on the glassy paper.

“You look like you liked it” she states, tilting her head thoughtfully. 

“Yes, I did.” He smiles tenderly at the recollection. “My Mama took me to that skating rink when summer came because we couldn’t skate outside anymore.” 

“Can your Mama skate?” she inquires. She doesn’t notices the few lingering seconds it takes him to answer and she simply bends herself forward, trying to reach out to another picture. His smile is still there, but the warmth in his eyes seems to almost imperceptibly tone down. 

“She could, yes.” He finally murmurs. 

“She looks like you?” the little one relentlessly continues her questions. He lets out a breathy chuckle. 

“Oh yes, same hair,” punctuating his answer with a noisy kiss on her temple. She glowers, bustling about in his arms. 

“Like the moon!” she finally manages to say in between her laughing breaths, throwing both her arms, opened wide toward the sky. She swivels on herself as to face her father, clenching her hand on a loose lock of lazily curling hair. "Mine is like the sun,” she says matter-of-factly and his eyebrows shoot up in amusement at the comment. 

She stays silent for a little while, deep in her thoughts. She presses her finger on her lips, and frowns. “Why is my hair like the sun?” she finally asks, seemingly concerned.

Her father cocks his head in confusion.   
“Yours is like the moon, and Otousan’s is like the night. You go together,” she explains clasping her hands together in illustration. “Mine is like the sun, and the sun is during the day” she pauses, entranced in her theory, then lift up her gaze, with worry burning in her eyes. 

He knows where this is going, and before she can open her mouth again, he ruffles her shining deep red curls, with a reassuring smile.

“Good thing we have you then!” he comments. Puzzled, she deepens her frown, trying to make sense of how on hearth it was a good thing. “It would be too dark without the light of the sun, don’t you think? We need a little warmth to compensate for the night!” he elaborates, giving her a soft Eskimo kiss. 

Her sweet smile reclaims her features, and she wraps her arms around his neck, holding tightly. 

“Let’s go back down to find Otousan, yes?” 

He strokes her back up and down, before patting her shoulder to signal her to let go of his neck so they can both get up. She takes the hand he offers her and both head for the door that has remained open, casting light from the floor below and guiding their steps in the right direction, Misha in tow. Meanwhile, the teddy bears are sadly forsaken, relegated in the far depth of the mind of the now exiting little girl. 

 

Back in the kitchen, Ana lets go of her Papa’s hand to launch herself in the short sprint that separates her from the raven-haired man busying himself with the kettle. 

“Otousan!” she squeals tackling his legs. Yuuri chuckles and lifts her under her arms to sit her on the counter of the large central island. 

“How’s my baby girl?” he asks, bobbing her nose. 

“I saw pictures of Papa!” she exclaims. 

“Oh did you now?” Yuuri says looking amusingly surprised in the silver-headed’s direction. Viktor is leaning in the kitchen entry with his arms crossed.   
“She managed to throw them all on the ground,” he explains with a light smile. 

“That wasn’t me!” she protests vehemently. “That was Misha,” she points toward the blissfully oblivious puppy now trying to catch her own tail. 

Both adults look at the black fluffy ball running vainly in circle on herself occasionally growling in frustration.  
“Right,” Yuuri finally says his face clearly belying his words to everyone but the stubborn red-headed. “Well do you have any idea why Misha wanted to see the pictures?” he adds, shamelessly sugarcoating his tone. 

The sassy little one rolls her eyes. “Of course not, because she didn’t do it on purpose obviously,” she tells them like they just cannot understand anything. “She scared me, so I fell and then the pictures all fell down too!” 

Its Viktor’s turn to roll his eyes half laughing. “That would explain it,” he says as he peels himself off the wall to come close to the pair. Yuuri shakes his head fondly and ruffles her hair. Ana quickly brings her own hands to her head, startling Yuuri who takes back his hand. “What’s wrong An-chan?” 

As she stays in a silent pout, Yuuri looks confusingly up toward his husband who shakes his head reassuringly, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.   
“Anushka, can you explain to Otousan what’s wrong?” he gently prompts, knowing that she won't be satisfied with only one reassurance. 

The little girl had felt much better after her Papa had given her his explanation about why her hair looked fine compared to her dads. Suddenly though, she was scared that maybe Otousan didn’t agree with it. But she was afraid to ask. Which of these options was the scariest, she wasn’t sure yet, and the silent pout was her way of figuring it out. 

She hums, still pouting, and furiously shaking her head.   
“Anushka.”   
She lifts her gaze, her hands still clenched in her fire locks. She lets out a sharp breath and then blurts out: “MyhairarelikethedayandyoursarelikethenightandIdon’tlikeit,” and then shuts her eyes so strongly that her little face wrinkles. 

Yuuri’s eyes bug out, and he is utterly puzzled. He gently runs the back of his fingers up and down her right wrist to soothe her. “An-chan?” he waits for her to open her eyes back up. She doesn’t. “An-Chan, baby, look at me.” 

She drops her hands, and he takes one, and then she opens her eyes slowly. Tilting his head down, he lifts her chin up. “Can you repeat this slowly please?”   
She swallows and breathes in. 

“Papa told me that it was good that my hair is like the sun, because it brings light to the night,” she starts, hoping that beginning with what Papa told her will gain immediate confirmation, “because I didn’t understand how I could fit together with you if my hair is like the sun and yours is like the night,” she finishes as she nudges in each of their directions. 

“I think Papa is right,” he locks his eyes with his daughter’s, “it’s nice to have both don’t you think? It would be boring if we all had the same hair color right?” he looks at her intently waiting for her to indicate she follows. When she unenthusiastically nods, he proceeds. “And besides, Papa and I don’t look very alike, but you do have something of both of us.” 

Her face lights up at that, curiosity taking over. A smile curls his lips upward. “You have the same skin color as Papa, pale as the moonlight,” he takes Viktor’s hand and puts Ana’s in his grip, “and we both have wood in our eyes,” he continues, thumbing her cheekbone softly for good measure.

She seems to like the interpretation because her face breaks down in the same magnificent smile she harbored after her Papa’s first explanation. She giggles and raises her arms in invitation for a hug, which is quickly obliged. 

After a few seconds of bear-hug, she grows impatient and tries to wiggle her way off the counter up to the point where Yuuri indulges and puts her down slowly. Both adults then look at their little one running off, calling out to Misha who quickly finds chasing her human much more interesting than chasing her tail. 

Viktor sits on the tall steel and leather stool, resting his head in his hand. “What tea are you making?” he asks as Yuuri is opening an upper cupboard taking out a large blue mug. “Jasmine green, want one too?” He throws a glance behind his shoulder. Viktor smiles, his eyes fluttering shut and hums. “Sounds good.” 

The words are barely out of his mouth that one of their phone starts vibrating loudly somewhere, the sound resonating in the room and startling both of them to the point that Yuuri drops the, thankfully still shut, tea box and Viktor almost falls off the stool. He grumbles and reluctantly gets up. Somewhere else in the house, Misha has started barking furiously, and they heard Ana’s loud 'itai!' in between two buzzing. 

“Remind me to put my phone on a flat surface and not halfway between two stuffs next time” 

“Eh?” Yuuri deadpans him. “What in the world?” 

“Well yeah whenever I do that, it makes that obnoxious drilling noise that could wake up the dead.” 

Still lost, Yuuri simply turns back to what he was doing while Viktor answers. “Da? Ah Georgi! How are you doing?” he says looking toward Yuuri who silently mouths “tell him I say hi”. 

Viktor smiles and do as asked looking away again, while Yuuri reopens the cupboard in order to pick another mug and goes through a drawer to take out two infusers. Opening the tea box he makes sure he doses properly, before putting the stainless infusers in each cup. 

“That’s nice, well when do you think she could go?” Viktor answers to the question Yuuri couldn’t hear. He occasionally looks up at Viktor through the open arks leading in the living room. He is pacing back and forth slowly, intently listening to whatever Georgi is saying. 

“Right, I guess we should wait a couple of years, she might even stop liking skating altogether for all we know, she’s only five,” he chortles. “Oh yes that’s true, she could do anything really. Can you still practice anything there?” 

Yuuri’s curiosity is rising up even though he tries to focus on not putting too much water in the cups. Hearing only half of a conversation isn’t really the best way to understand it, and he can only wonder what has hold up his husband's interest like that. 

“That’s nice! Oh really? We couldn’t start that early back when we went there! We already had to have a specialty. Hum, for sure she could go and just try anything if that’s how it works now!” 

Yuuri frowns slightly as he steps in the living room with the two cups in his hands. As he approaches, Viktor nudges toward him with a silent thank you in his smile as his husband puts down their teas. As he goes back to his conversation, Yuuri sits down, his face contorting in an expression of nagging expectation. He guesses that they’re talking about Ana, but that’s only a hunch. And as to what the place they seem to be referring to is, he can only speculate, but he doesn’t really like his own speculation. So the only thing he can do about it right now, is wait for Viktor to end the call and for him to directly ask about it. So he leans back, setting one foot on the edge of their coffee table and his hands clasped together on the propped up knee. 

“To be honest, I think we should just wait a little,” Viktor says, looking up at nothing toward the ceiling, “yes, you know, just so that she has a better idea of what she actually wants to do. I mean like I said, she just started skating so there’s nothing ensuring she’ll stick to it when she grows up.” He nods couple of times, occasionally humming in agreement to whatever Georgi is saying. “I agree, let’s just talk about it again later! Yes sure, thank you Georgi. Bye have a good day!” 

He ends the call and breathes out. Walking back toward Yuuri, he sets the phone face down on the table before dropping on the couch next his husband, and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you for the tea solnyshko.” Yuuri smiles at the tender gesture, but is unable to erase the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“What were you talking about?” he says, trying his best to avoid letting it show. 

“Georgi was asking me if we wanted information about the summer training camp for Ana,” he answers trying not to spill his mug, “you know the one I used to go to for a few years each summer?” he adds looking back toward Yuuri. 

“Ana is too young,” he says, the words a little rushed out. 

“Oh yes that’s what we were thinking, especially since she barely even started skating, but he figured he would still give us a heads up and tell us about it for when she could be ready to go.” Yuuri swallows. 

Viktor tries a sip of the tea, but quickly regrets it as it burns his tongue. “Still too hot,” he snorts, setting it back down. Yuuri makes a pitiful attempt at smiling, and this time Viktor catches on his husband’s mood. 

“Solnyshko, what’s wrong?” he asks gently rubbing his hand on Yuuri’s knee. He remains silent as he scans Yuuri’s worried stance, not wanting to push him.   
Yuuri knows that the camp was an amazing experience for all of those who went through it. He had Viktor, Georgi, Mila, Yuri and Otabek, among others to vouch for it. 

Viktor and Georgi actually bonded there, meeting athletes from a wide range of disciplines as they were all spending the summer in a huge athletic campus not too far from Makhachkala, all the way south next to the Caspian Sea. If Ana was to go, Georgi would be there, along with Yakov and Lilia. Not counting all the other coordinators she would be surrounded with, making sure all the children would be delivered back to their parents safe and sound. 

He cannot help but feeling off about it though. Rationally, he is perfectly aware that if anything should happen to his little girl, the camp is probably one of the least probable places he should think of. The irrational “what ifs” swirling in his head beg to defer however, and those are what Yuuri cannot stop thinking about. He shakes his head quickly, squeezing his eyes shut for only a moment to try and curtail those thoughts before they go out of control. 

He meets up Viktor’s eyes, not bothering hiding his worry anymore. “We should wait for her to grow up,” he finally settles on. He knows that this isn’t really answering Viktor’s question, but the look on Viktor's face confirms that he understands. 

Viktor silently nods, his lips squeezing shut to signify his agreement. “Alright, Solnyshko,” he whispers before brushing his lips on Yuuri’s temple pressing a soft kiss there. This wasn’t hard to promise, especially considering both Georgi and himself had come to that same conclusion. 

“Why don’t I fix a dinner for the three of us, hum?” he suggests, trying to divert Yuuri’s attention. The raven-haired man manages to produce a small smile in response to his husband’s enthusiasm, but shakes his hand. “I am not too hungry, but you should go ahead I’ll go ask Ana to come down,” he says as he puts his foot down. “I think I should go sleep early tonight, my head is pounding,” he apologies when he notices Viktor’s sad expression. 

“Are you sure?” he asks not convinced.

Yuuri hums, getting up and making sure his smile is more assured this time. “Yes I’m sure don’t worry about me.” 

“You know I’ll always worry about you, just as you will always worry about me,” Viktor quickly argues, fidgeting with the gold band on his finger. As he notices, Yuuri’s smile grows more genuine and he leans back down to kiss the sour expression away. As their lips meet, the familiarity and affection immediately melts Viktor’s’ ache and his hand fly up to grip the back of Yuuri’s neck, unwilling to let go. He smiles on Yuuri’s lips, and when they part he rest his forehead against Yuuri’s who looks at him with eyes shining with love. “I’ll go lie down now,” he whispers. Viktor squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his hand. 

“Ok,” he relents in a sigh.


	2. St Peterburg, June 1990

The little boy wrapped himself in his arms, letting out a shivering huff.  
There was no mistaken his expression however, looking everywhere at once with wide glittering eyes, trying to see it all with amazement plastered on his face. He looked up towards a tall and lean woman smiling down at him, encouraging him to move forward.

It didn’t need more than that for the little boy to rush towards the entrance of the rink. The woman let a pure and crystalline laugh at the sight, closely following her son who was already testing the ice beneath the blades. 

“It’s frozen mama,” he exclaimed, even more amazed than earlier, if it was even possible “I thought you were joking!” he added with a smiling pout.  
She cupped his little cheek, so little it fits in her hand, stroking gently with her thumb across the rosy blush that settled on his face. 

“Do you want to show me how much you have improved Lapooshka?”

The little boy beamed, and turned around so fast he almost lost his balance. And there he went shuffling one foot forward, then the next, keeping his center as best he can while trying to gain speed. 

After one lap, he suddenly seemed to realize something rather important and his face fell.  
“Mama, how do I stop?” he screamed, with a little hint of panic in his voice. She laughed, and got to him in a few seconds, scooping him off the ice so smoothly he barely felt the disconnect of his skates from the smooth surface. 

“Like this!” She tickled him in her arms, and the surprise that had settled on his face was melted in his laughs, the joy resonating throughout the rink. “Mama, stop! I can’t breathe anymore” he pleaded in between his attempts to breathe in. 

She kissed his cheek, in a loud exaggerated way, and he tried to push her away. “Ah no,” he protested, still smiling. 

She put him down, keeping his hand tightly in her own, and started pulling him gently in her wake.  
“When I grow up, I want to be just like you,” he suddenly said after they skated a few minutes in a comfortable silence. 

She looked at him fondly, slightly frowning her brows in an amused curiosity. “Oh and what’s that?”  
He puffed. “An angel of course!” he professed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A bright smile made its way to her lips, as her brows shot up from the adorable statement her son just made. She chose to tease him a little longer though, as she retorted “Am I now?” 

He didn’t even look up, and shot back “Well yes, you are pretty, and when you are on the ice, you fly! I want to fly like you someday!”  
She didn’t say anything for a little while, beaming at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. 

He dropped her hand, and went on on his own, looking more confident than before. When he skated back toward his mother, she can see that something clicked, and a determined flame was burning in the cold ice eyes. 

A few meters away from her, he suddenly brought his skates parallel to each other, and shifted his little body so as to stop his momentum. Sprinkle of ice splattered around until the skates come to a stop. 

He stood there a few seconds, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just done. Then he looked up, a smile so wide it seemed to connect his ears together, and he threw his little fist in the air. 

“I did it! Mama I did it” he kept on repeating as she skated to him. He didn’t hesitate when she opened her arms, and he threw himself into her embrace. Stroking the silver hair, so similar to her own, she tenderly rocked him from side to side. “Yes you did Lapooshka,” she said in his ear “you did amazing” 

His eyes were squeezed shut, the smile just as wide as a few moments ago, leaning in her embrace like it is the single most amazing thing he would ever feel. 

“Let’s go home now,” she finally whispers, not willing to break the harmony of the moment. He hums even though he doesn’t seem ready to let go either. “Come on, Papa is surely home now, he’ll wonder where we are!” 

He begrudgingly let go, and allowed her to put him down. She took his hand back in hers, and led him toward the gate.

He sat on the bench where they left their shoes and bags, and proceeded in untying his skates…not very successfully. 

As expected from a tired four-year-old, he battled with the laces for a few minutes, frustratingly pulling too hard, and successfully making a mess of the knots. 

He didn’t really know which way to tug now, and he felt lost. Looking sideways, he could see Mama already removing her second skate and slipping her foot in the flats that the nice weather had allowed her to wear. 

Looking back down at his own feet, still imprisoned in the white boots that seemed to only be getting tighter, he suddenly got confused at how blurry they looked, and uncomfortable because of the painful ball that had formed in his throat. 

He frowned, feeling the frustration building up. He could feel his lips quivering. 

Sniffing, he let out a whimper, trying to pull harder however he can, in the hope it will magically untie itself. After a few more seconds of an abortive battle, he let go of the laces and busted into tears. 

His crying was resonating in the cold and empty space, sharp as needles and full of a genuine sadness. His mother’s head immediately shot up in worry and she instinctively scurried at him, cupping his face and inspecting his tear-stained face. 

Initially a little confused as to what had triggered it, her face settled as she came to the realization when her eyes stoped on the messy knot the laces had turned into. She kissed both of his cheeks, and thumbed away the rain of tears that have left his little face red. 

“It’s ok Lapooshka” she murmured, “look I’m going to help you”. 

She reached down to the skates, and untied the knots after a few seconds of playing with the white threads. She loosened the leather tongue, and gently pulled his foot out of the boot. 

Dumbfounded at the sudden release, he brushed over his eyes with the heel of his hand to clear out his vision from the tears that had been pouring out of his eyes and looked down. She reached for the second skate, and untied it more easily than the first one since he hadn’t had time to play with that one yet.

Again, she moved his foot out of the boot and slipped it in his shiny red kickers. He sniffed again, holding back his tears now that there wasn’t any more reasons for them to be let loose. A tender smile spread across his mother’s features at the adorable pout. 

His lips were tightly clenched together, his eyebrows drawn together, his cheeks trailed by the now dry tears and his eyes were still watery from his crying. 

Slowly he let himself fall off the bench and settled himself in his mother’s embrace, lashing his arms around her neck, and tightly holding her cardigan. She hugged back, her hand going up and down the small back, before she scooped him up. 

She grabbed the skates with one hand, her son securely held against her chest and supported with her arm. He hugged her so tightly that she wasn’t afraid for even half a second that he might fall. She put them in the bag the best she can, before grabbing it and setting it on the shoulder on which the silver head wasn’t resting.

He had stopped crying now. He felt warm with Mama, and he never wanted to let go. He closed his eyes to enjoy the comforting feeling of her arms around him, feeling just as he had been in a cotton bubble, protected and safe. 

Not that struggling with a stubborn and unruly knot was a danger to his safety whatsoever, but who would blame a four year old for thinking otherwise? 

 

He was woken up after what seemed like only a few seconds after he had closed his eyes.

A little disoriented as to where he was when he looked around, he rubbed his eyes, heavy-lidded and yawning as Mama unlocked the seat belt and stroke his hair to give him time to settle. Eventually he took her hand and got out of the car, following her towards the door of the tall building. 

The nap had been enough for him to get over the little crisis of earlier, and he was feeling much better when they reached their door on the tenth floor. He was practically bouncing everywhere now, still holding Mama’s hand, and he didn’t even notice that he was pulling her arm up and down. 

Considering her face, it probably wasn’t the most agreeable stretching, but her gentle smile would reassure him if he had indeed noticed. She let go of his hands in order to produce the key of their apartment, and she could barely take it out of the lock before he slammed the door open, screaming. “Papa! Papa!” 

His mother could hear a deep voice, made rougher by years of smoking, guffaw in the depth of the apartment, followed by a loud huff as she knew their son probably just leapt directly into his father’s arms.

Not so sleepy anymore it seems, she thought with a smile. They would have a hard time making him got to bed tonight.  
She removed her shoes, setting them neatly in the entrance closet, and closed it back after she hanged her jacket.

It didn’t really matter though, the boy hadn’t seen is father in over a week due to professional commitment, and she wouldn’t be the one depriving him of the pleasure of the reunion.  
As expected, she saw her husband hugging his son in a bear-hug like he was afraid he could vanish into thin air, his eyes shut, wrinkled on the sides and his lips thinned.

He sat down on the couch behind them, and set the little boy on his laps, kissing his cheeks loudly and started tickling him, prompting the four-year-old to burst out in laughter again. 

She stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning on the door jamb with her arms crossed around her, contemplating the domesticity of the scene. They would both, never get enough of hearing their little treasure laughing, nor seeing him smile, eyes sparkling as he tried to decipher everything he saw with wide, amazed eyes.  
Her soft features filled with a quiet melancholy and a hint of sadness when the memories of what they went through to get to this point flooded her back. Before their son, she had had several miscarriages, some at the early beginning of the pregnancy. Those had made her sad, but they had been able to go over them quickly, since the doctor had explained it was a rather common occurrence, and there was nothing abnormal or alarming in it. 

She wouldn’t forget his ordinarily impassible but courteous expression, go increasingly closed off as this ‘common occurrence’ was becoming more and more frequent, and more painful. Both on the physical and the psychological level. Her husband was distraught and felt helpless. 

Behind the now adoration-filled and sparkling eyes, she knew that a great deal of pain had consumed him during the years that had preceded their son’s birth. They had had that conversation many times during their therapy after their before-last attempt of having a child. She knew that the ghosts of this time of their lives were still dancing in the back of his memory, were still gripping at his guts whenever he worried for their son’s health or safety. She could read it in the soft and still shallow wrinkles that had marked his features. 

 

_He couldn’t do anything more than hold her hand, and crush her in his embrace while she was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably, holding back his own pain because he couldn’t bear to impose it on his wife. The last attempt had had him fear for her sanity and mental health. Despite a rocky start, the pregnancy had seemed to be taking off well, and she was overjoyed._

_She started thinking about names, and bedrooms designs, buying small baby shoes both pink and blue because it could be either and it was better to be prepared right? He hadn’t shared his worries with her. He didn’t want to jinx their odds more than they already had been for the past few years nor shatter her painfully obtained joy by voicing perhaps unfounded concerns._

_Nothing seemed to cloud her mood for the next few months, because nothing worrying came out of the obstetrician’s appointment. He should have noticed that his smile had frozen, oh so subtly, looking at the echography on the last one of their visit, nor how the light had disappeared from his eyes. But how could he have noticed when all of his attention had been focused on making her happy in every way possible. Indulging in any expenditure, listening to her constant talking on why and how that name was better than this one, or why it was ok to have blue or pink clothing but painting the room as such wouldn’t do because it would have been too much._

_The next week, as they returned to the doctor’s office, the smiles dropped, the talking stopped, and life itself seemed to have escaped her eyes. He had thought that seeing her cry as she had in the past had been the hardest thing he’ll ever have to go through._

_She wasn’t crying then. In fact, she wasn’t doing anything. Her lips were screwed together, her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes were dead set on being lost in something that wasn’t physically there. It was as if she was not there anymore. He couldn’t remember having felt more frightened and distressed in his life, as he had been then, seeing her go through the days like a ghost. Eventually the spell broke, when she had to put into the world her stillborn child._

_She was inconsolable, going on a rampage in the room they had decided would be their child’s, tearing apart everything she had taken the time to gather, throwing the furniture and the baby items on the floor with such force that many ended up in pieces, scattered across the room. She wouldn’t talk, but she screamed. The pain was clogging her throat, and she couldn’t breathe without feeling the deep burning of all these losses._  
_They were weighing on her shoulders, pinning her down with such force that she felt as if she would never be able to stand upright. Not that she had the strength for that._  
_If she so much as acknowledged the weight, she was immediately drowning in her own tears, her breathing erratic and her heart bolting in her chest, threatening to escape. So instead she screamed. She punched. She hit. She pushed down._

_It took a long time before she managed to get a hold back on her emotions. She had refused at first; because getting back in control meant that she had to acknowledge what had brought her to the edge in the first place._

_She wasn’t quite ready to do that. And he didn’t push her. He understood her too well to know that she would shatter if she tried to pick herself up too early. They started therapy in order to rebuild themselves back up, to try and find back, at least a semblance, of normalcy.  
_The losses had dug deep holes in their chest. Each time they had been ready to welcome a little one in their lives, and each time it felt like their heart had been teared to shreds when their expectations were cruelly trampled on._ _

__

__

_It took months to start getting better, and start living once again. But they did. Because what else was there? They had each other, and he would rather die than see the light in her eyes die once again._ _Her own feelings were the perfect reflection of his, and they both independently figured it was what had enabled them to stay together, in somewhat good health. The repetitive interventions had taken its toll on her body, but she was getting stronger. She started smiling again, they were chatting casually, teasing each other with a playful tone. It was getting better, normal again, despite the lingering void left by the losses they had experienced._

_He wasn’t prepared for what came next, and when she woke up screaming in pain in the middle of the night, he panicked. They arrived at the hospital, and she was immediately assessed and brought in the OR for an emergency intervention. No one would tell him anything, and he ended up pacing back and forth in the waiting room for what felt like eternity, his whole body wrapped up in anguish with the love of his life’s screams resonating in his ears. Then he would sit down, his head buried in his hands, his elbows propped up in his knees which were bouncing up and down in a dreadful rhythm. When the doctor who had admitted his wife came into his field of vision, his breathing caught up in his throat, and he had felt his heart stops. Nonetheless, he had jumped on his feet and in a matter of milliseconds; he had taken the doctor’s hands in his own, begging for an answer._

_The man was anything but smiling and didn’t mouth a word. He thought he was about to lose it and punch that ass there and then. The doctor didn’t fail to notice the man’s expression, so he didn’t wait any longer to guide him through the maze of corridors. And then, his heart stopped again. He grabbed the large wooden ramp that trailed on every wall of the corridors as he felt his knees go weak under him. He dropped on the floor, his forehead resting on the ramp has he let loose to his tears._

_Those tears that had been sealed up deep in his heart when he had sworn to himself he would never burden his wife with his pain, were now raw and flooding his cheeks, his body jolting under the relieved sob at what he had just saw. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to._

_His wife was smiling. Not smiling… Beaming in a solace expression he hadn’t seen in her in forever. Her face was radiating happiness, her eyes watery and wide, as she was staring down._

_In her arms was something he had lost hope to see one day. Eventually he managed to get the sobbing under control, and he rose back up, extending his hand toward the door knob. He left it there a couple more seconds, breathing in and out deeply before he opened the door. She looked up, and he saw the tears dripping too, laughing in between the sobs as she took in the sight of him._

_His eyes finally fell on the most beautiful thing they had ever been laid on. He felt his entire body shaking as he reached out the side of the blanket the smallest thing on earth was wrapped in. His sobs broke through again, as the relief, joy and unconditional happiness washed over him._

_There he was. The blessing they had been waiting for, praying for, begging for, longing for, desperately hoping for…_

_There he was, incredibly small, but rosy cheeks, and a tiny slightly opened mouth, and softly closed eyes adorned by short silver eyelashes brushing his skin. His head was covered with a blue knitted bonnet, underneath which he didn’t need to see to know was equally silver hair._

_The little one stirred, wailing slightly. Both parents flinched, looking immediately concerned, and a stray of panicked flushed their faces. What if something was wrong? What if he felt hungry, or hurt? Why was he crying? Was he alright? They didn’t have time to panic much further however, because their son’s eyes fluttered open. It took the heavy-lidded newborn a little while to be fully awake, his parents finally got to stare in the ice cold eyes that immediately sparkled as their owner heard the two warm voices babble to him._

_The doctor had come back next, and explained that she had experienced a pregnancy denial due to the trauma of the previous miscarriages. A self-defense mechanism that her body had initiated on its own, not that she really understood what it meant, nor did she care now that she was holding the most precious treasure she’ll ever lay eyes on._

_Their little miracle. Their little angel._

She suddenly snapped back to the present as she heard him call her. The smile spread wider now. _Oh my sweet boy, you’ve always been an angel_ , she thought fondly as she stepped in the room. Her husband looked up, and kissed her welcome as she bent down and sat on the other side of the couch while their son was still talking on and on. She shot up her eyebrows in an amused expression. Did he manage to breathe during his monologues? She chuckled quietly, stroking his hair while his hands were moving along his tale. 

When he finally paused, he ducked down his head pensively thinning his lips in concentration. Very possibly thinking about what other topic to broach next. She looked at his hair for a second and figured it might be time to cut it before it got too long. It was already past its shoulders, and surely he probably would prefer it short. 

“Lapooshka, I think we should go to the hairdresser to cut your hair, it’s getting long,” she softly said, while moving away a few strands of hair that had fallen in his face. 

Both father and son shot up looking at her with horror painted on their faces. “NO!” they shrieked plaintively, almost sounding desperate as if she was the last commander of death. She half jumped on her sit, definitely not having expected such reaction from either of them, her eyes wide. 

“O-ok, ok no hairdresser,” she stammered her hands flying away from her son’s hair. He was now holding it in two strands in each hand, surrounding his face, with a heartbroken look. She felt stabbed by the genuine sadness in his eyes and quivering lips, but had to stifle a laugh as she saw her husband wrap the little head in his arms, burying it in his chest with an amazingly comical expression. 

She bit her lips, swallowing back the laugh. “Alright boys, no cutting!” throwing her hands in the air in sign of surrender. 

They initially didn’t relax at all. And she fisted her hand on her heart, tilting her head down in an exaggerated gesture as if she was vowing. “I solemnly promise to all deities, past and present, and to the best two men the face of the earth will ever meet that I will never let scissors get closer than one centimeter of this silvery silk without the express vocal and written approval of the both of the aforementioned amazing men” she poetically clamored in a deep voice. 

A few seconds of silence followed, and they all burst out laughing at the antics. _Mission accomplished_ , she thought quirking an amused eyebrow when they return to chatting while she got on starting dinner. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ook! Just so that it doesn't confuse anyone, this happens around two years after the very first chapter!   
> Hope you'll enjooy!! :D

Ana is seated in her padded booster seat, her legs swinging against the car seat. She is playing with the seat belt, uncomfortably set across her chest and stomach.

Her father is carefully driving, but there is nothing he can do to avoid turning when their itinerary requires it, and the child is starting to feel nauseous. She is desperately trying to tug the seat belt away from her, so that it doesn’t press against her tummy and makes it feel squished. The polyester webbing is everything but cooperating with the little girl however, and she is starting to lose her patience. 

As she tries pulling it harder, the automatic resistance mechanism locks, leading her effort to no avail. She angrily whimpers, trying to tug even more and repeatedly emitting a distinctively somewhat irritating sound that calls her father’s attention. 

The black-haired man lifts his gaze to lock it in the rear-view mirror, trying to make out what his daughter is trying to accomplish. 

“What’s wrong An-chan?”   
More whimpering and no answer. 

Looking back and forth between the mirror and the windshield, he frowns. “Baby what’s wrong?” he reiterates, starting to feel a wary sense of insecurity as she remains silent. 

Ana finally realizes that perhaps tugging harder is not the right move, and she manages to pull the seat belt enough so as to pass her head underneath, successfully leading the longer part of the belt to rest behind her instead of in front. 

Yuuri immediately tenses up, clenching so hard on the steering wheel, his knuckles turns white. 

“Oh no no no, baby don’t do that,” Yuuri warns, trying to make sure his tone is soft enough not to alarm the girl, but firm enough she’ll hopefully obey immediately, “put it back please.”

“But it hurts my tummy, I don’t like it,” Ana whines, looking up with imploring eyes. 

“We’re almost there An-chan, put it back.” His voice turns harder as he sees that his daughter isn’t initiating any movement to obey. She lets out whiny complaints, fidgeting on her seat in an attempt of trying to dissuade him. Yuuri furrows, his face hardening. 

“Ana put it back now,” he orders, releasing the pressure on the accelerator subtly, ready to pull over and stop if necessary. The tone does not leave room for argument, and that alone would have made the little girl comply immediately. But, Otousan never calls her just Ana, and she flinches back at the call. She pouts, and reluctantly rearranges the belt properly. 

The raven-haired man visibly relaxes at the sight, his grip loosening enough from the wheel to allow the blood flow to pass through once more.   
Yuuri’s face softens, and he smiles indulgently. “I’m not saying this to punish you An-chan.” She looks up once more, her eyes watery from frustration. “Cars are too dangerous to bypass any security available.” 

“If they’re so dangerous, why are we even using them,” the now seven-year-old retorts back, mumbling under her breath. 

Yuuri grins at the sassy comment. At least she isn’t angrily snapping at him yet. He would need to make sure she stays away from a certain blond during her teenage years if they didn’t want to deal with yet another overly angry teenager. 

Ana begins to cross her arms in silent protest against the order, but figures it’ll hurt less while respecting his father’s command if she holds the belt slightly away from her stomach, effectively removing the pressure from it. 

As he mindlessly observes her quietly by throwing a few quick glances in the rear-view mirror, his smile slowly drops, and is soon all but gone, leaving its place to a subtle frown. 

The little girl has found the perfect parade to satisfy both her caprice and her father’s order, and has effectively stopped paying much attention to what has started the argument in the first place. Yuuri however has to resist the urge of tearing his gaze away from the road, even for barely a handful of instant, in order to check on his daughter now peacefully looking out through the window. 

It surely isn’t the first time she has complained about the seat belt making her uncomfortable. She doesn’t get sick often in the car, but when she does she always accuses either the road or the seat belt. Sometimes both. 

Both Viktor and himself have had to sit her down multiple times to make sure she would lose that bad habit of not fastening her seat belt. There was nothing they could do about it, and she would just have to accept it. 

He tries to prevent himself from restlessly fidgeting his hands across the steering wheel, but his efforts very much lead up to no avail, and after a little while he simply let his fingers drumming over the leathered wheel, figuring it might help in releasing the tense feeling that had set in all his body. He should perhaps find a higher booster seat that would fit the little girl better so that the seat belt wouldn’t be as painful as it seems to be now. 

They arrive at the studio early enough to find the small parking deserted, and Yuuri parks in their reserved spot right next to the front door. It’s the week-end, and the dance lessons never start earlier than 10am unless Lilia updates the schedule for a specific reason such as last minute rehearsal for a recital. 

Yuuri barely has the time to turn off the engine that Ana has already unbuckled her torturer and leaped out of the car. Her father sighs as he proceeds to join her to the door. He mechanically locks the car, pulling the driver’s door in order to make sure it is properly locked. Just a precaution, he thinks. Or rather doesn’t think, since it has become second nature since he started driving. 

His own bad secured on one shoulder, he gives one last look in the car to check if they haven’t forgotten anything, and when his eyes fall on the small cloth bag in the middle back seat, he cannot help but roll his eyes. 

“An-chan,” he calls, his tone flat in the habit of it all, his daughter seemingly absolutely incapable of remembering to grab her bag before making a bee-line to the door. Not that this reminder makes her budge one bit. She simply answers with a sheepish smile, Yuuri knows is only her way to coax him into not being mad. Not that he ever got mad for that, but she does it anyway. 

Yuuri has already unlocked the door and grabbed the small bag. 

“You are impossible” he says when he reaches her, keys and bag in hand. “There you go, young lady.” She extends her hand to grab the bag her father is holding out for her. He ruffles her hair with a soft smile, and directly goes toward the main office while Ana has already disappeared in the changing room. 

The door has been left ajar, and behind an imposing wooden desk, a woman with sharp features and a stern look is sitting. Her face is proudly held high, and her back is peeled away from the back of her large chair, while her eyes are cast down as she hastily scorches her fountain pen on the paper in front of her. 

Yuuri knocks gently, peeking his head in the room. “Ah, Yuuri!” her face lights up, evaporating the stern look that had settled on her features, “Is my little Ice princess here?” she asks even though she already knows the answer. 

Yuuri smiles, nodding in confirmation. He nudges toward the set of papers beneath her propped up elbows “Are you working on the registrations for the summer camp?” 

“Yes, it seems it is still going pretty well!” Yuuri gets closer, glancing down at the list of names. “I suppose having international figure skaters helping out doesn’t hurt” she teases. 

Yuuri chuckles, and sits down in one of the chairs before the desk. “Georgi will be there?” his voice has grown serious all of the sudden; despite is effort not to let it show.

She nods, studying his face. Yuuri is worrying his lower lip, gaze ducked down and seemingly lost in thought. “What has you worried?” He meets up her eyes, and sighs in defeat. “I can reassure you now, no Yuuri you’re still not very good at hiding it when your thoughts start reeling up.” 

 

The comment brings about a sad smile. Yuuri sighs, leaning his head back a short moment. “I can’t help but worrying” he shrugs. She offers an indulgent expression, waiting for him to elaborate. “I wish Viktor or I could come with you. But the season is not going to prepare itself alone.” 

“Are you going back to Japan?” 

“Probably,” he nods, “Minami said he was fine either way, but I want him to be able to spend as much time as possible close to his family, especially since I know his grand-mother isn’t doing too good recently”. 

“Viktor and Yura will follow you I suppose?” He hums noncommittally, pursing his lips. “You’re worried about the distance while you will be there and Anushka here,” she guesses. It isn’t a question, and Yuuri doesn’t bother answering. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his laps and hands clasped before him.

“You know she’ll be safe with us, right?” Lilia asks, her voice almost too soft to be louder than a whisper. Yuuri’s head snaps back up, horror on his face. “Of course I do!” She doesn’t react to the sudden outburst. “It’s not what I meant at all. I can’t fathom even the mere doubt of her not being safe with you.” He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath. 

“She wanted to remove her seat belt earlier,” he says in finality. Understanding flashes on her features, and she quietly puts down her pen as she stands up. Yuuri has ducked down again when she surrounds the desk and sits next to him. 

“Yuuri” 

“Yuuri, look at me”, she prompts, her hands setting on his arm. He looks up uncertainly. “You cannot worry yourself like that, you’ll make yourself sick”. He wiggles his eyebrow with frustration.

It wasn’t the first time he was being told that exact comment, by more people and more often than he’d care to admit. Easier said than done, and the more the words were said, the emptier they became. 

“I know that, but…” she raises her hand, effectively shutting him up. Despite the already fainting annoyance, he wouldn’t dare going up against that look. “Let me finish please.” She could have omitted the please, since the tone she employed was definitely not asking permission. 

He sighs, but remains silent. 

“She’s a kid, your kid. You’ll always worry. What I meant was, do not use the past as a justification for your concerns now.” He frowns. “She’ll do things through her childhood, and more accurately throughout all her life,” she gives him a pointed look as she emphases on the last bit, “that will worry her family, and more so her parents. It’s not something anyone can go against. You cannot lock her up in a golden cage in the hope it’ll keep away everything.”

He smiles weakly at that. She lifts up his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “The next best thing is to give her all your love, and the space she needs so that she can learn where the boundaries of what she can and cannot do are, the limits of what she should and shouldn’t do, and be there to pick up the pieces when she falls apart”. He swallows, confusion melting away as he takes in the words. 

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” he whispers. 

“She will get hurt Yuuri.” He frowns deeply in disbelief. “Life isn’t gentle, and you know that more than most. The faster she learns how to deal with it, in the context of her family, the better off she’ll be.” 

He doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t seem to need him to. She’ll just let him process the words. 

She is barely back behind her desk that the aforementioned little human hops in the office. Lilia’s face lights up. “Ah, my little ice princess” she chirps, drawing Yuuri’s attention to his daughter. 

Ana runs off to her opened arms, giggling. “Babushka!” 

She hugs her tightly, kissing her messy hair. “Dear lord, what have you done with your hair child!” She glances at the raven-haired man, who looks amused by her distress. “Let me guess, Vitya was sleeping?” she accuses. 

“Actually no, but this little lady here insisted on the fact that she wanted you to style her hair this morning.” The explanation takes her aback a little, but she quickly hides her surprise by giving back her attention to the excited child in her arms. “Vitya actually sulked for half an hour,” he adds. “I don’t think he had planned on her being just as stubborn as the both of us combined”. 

Ana looks a bit too pleased with herself when she lets go of Lilia, who quirks an eyebrow, smiling at the impish look pasted on the soft features. “Alright then come with me, and then I’ll let you both get a head start in the studio. I’ll join you in probably fifteen to thirty minutes”. 

Yuuri nods, and follows them out of the office. 

They work in the studio for a few hours, starting with extensive stretching of every muscle group. Despite the little girl being already very flexible and could slide down into splits on command, neither her father nor her ‘grandmother’ would leave out the exercises. To her great misfortune and displeasure considering the look on her face, after an umpteenth stretch. They go through each positions several times, Yuuri being particularly vigilant to her form, and he joins her when Lilia guides her through drills of pliés, relevés and sautés. 

Around late morning, Lilia’s class starts to gather outside the room, signaling them that their privileged practice time was over. Yuuri is already gathering up the duffle bag containing his daughter’s clothes, but Ana would have none of that. When he straightens back up, his eyebrows shoot up as he sees her bouncing around Lilia. 

“Please, please please please please!” she frenetically begs. 

How was she still jumping like that after two hours and a half of practice? Did she never tire? He isn’t one to talk though. 

Utterly confused as to what is happening though, he calls out: “An-chan calm down please.” The little girl stops jumping, but she can barely control herself and ends up swaying up and down on the ball of her feet, her hands clasped around Lilia’s free hand, while the older woman is massaging her forehead. “She wants to stay for the next class,” she sighs, exhaustion filtering in her voice. 

It was like a valve opens once more, and back at jumping she is. “Please, please, please, please, please, please!” 

With an exasperated but amused roll of his eyes, Yuuri put the duffle back down. 

“An-chan, please calm down, you’re tiring Babushka.” Ana looks up, and forces herself to stop jumping.

“Sorry,” she whispered with a sheepish smile. Lilia strokes her head reassuringly, opening back her eyes to meet the glance of the little girl. “If your father says yes, then you can stay.” 

Ana manages, only God knows how, to contain her excitement by not jumping, but she beams so brightly, it’s too adorable for Yuuri who can only fondly shake his head. 

“Fine, let’s stay” he chuckles, his hands going up in acquiescence. 

She literally throws her fist in the air. “Yatta!” 

During the next hour, Yuuri helps Lilia with her students, some of them whispering to each other, and occasionally pointing at him when they think he cannot see them. 

It isn’t the first time he steps up as such, especially not since he started teaching himself for upper level dancers. It is still somewhat rare that he would attend this age group’s lesson, because it was Ana’s and she never usually trains along with them since she is more advanced, for obvious reasons. 

Ignoring the whispers, he did nothing but smiling at them, which surprisingly led many to blush and stutter, pulling them back in focus on their training. 

Yuuri inwardly chuckles, and spends a long time observing the only red-haired seven year-old in the room. She is eagerly following all of Lilia’s instructions, who more often than not discreetly upgrade some of the exercises for her. She looks so serene despite her excitement, her eyes focused on following her extended arm as it moves along with her for the different positions, and her face is relaxed, shining a soft glow. 

Yuuri feels his stomach knot itself in pride, and cannot help but reminiscing on his own practices as a child. He sighs at the thought that it didn’t go nearly as well, and he was genuinely happy for she never followed in his footsteps. 

Not long after, she joins him at the door, her cheeks red after the effort, despite her happy face, he can tell she is exhausted.

“All good, baby girl?” She reaches out for his extended hand. “Alright, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yatta: exclamation when you succeeded something or simply to express joy


	4. Hasetsu, October 1995

The raven-haired little boy was fidgeting with his hands as he was sitting on the step of the genkan, his feet still bare of his shoes and his backpack already settled on his shoulders. He stared at his laps, perhaps in the hope it would calm the furious beating of his heart. He looked deflated and utterly distressed, as if he was about to be forced to cross the seven circles of hell. 

With his head tilted down, his glasses kept slowly slipping off his nose, and he had to reach up with his hand to replace the glassy blue frame back mechanically from the umpteenth time. 

He chewed his quivering lip, and swallowed with difficulty. “I don’t want to go,” he quietly whispered to himself, trying desperately to fight back the tears stinging in his eyes.

He jumped as he felt warm and reassuring hands on his head and shoulder. He lifted his gaze and met deem chocolate eyes softly wrinkled by the comforting smile that she offered him. He let out a whimper, almost giving up on controlling the sob threatening passing his lips. 

“What’s wrong Yuuchan?” Her tone was nothing short of affectionate, but laced with cheerfulness in the hope it will soothe her little boy. She had figure out a long time ago that the best course of action when he was feeling apprehensive wasn’t to show pity. 

Yuuri frowned and swallowed once more. “I don’t wanna go,” he said, his voice cracking. His mother cradled his face, thumbing the chubby and rosy cheek on which a few tears had trailed down. “Why is that?” 

The boy didn’t need time to think about what his answer would be, but rather hesitated to voice it at all. She patiently waited, her hands gliding from his cheek to gently stroke his hair back. 

“I’m scared to be there alone,” he finally managed to say, his voice so low it was barely a whisper. He felt ashamed, he felt like he was letting her down somehow. He was the one who had insisted to go with Mari the first time she had tried ballet, and again when she had stopped, he had been adamant on keeping up with it. Now that he was faced with the inexorable reality of him going alone, he felt crushed, and above all, terrified. 

She sighed, allowing her smile to grow wider. “You know Minako-senpai well, Yuuchan,” she said as she kneeled next to her boy to meet his eyes more evenly, “you’ve been dancing with her since you were four, baby.” 

The boy opened his eyes wide, a look of horror suddenly reaching his face. 

“I know I know!” the words rushed out like he couldn’t say them fast enough. “I am not scared of Minako-sensei!” he explains vehemently with big gestures, at the thought that his mother might believe he was. 

He dropped down his hands, his head ducking down as he tries to escape his mother’s scrutiny. “But before, Mari-neesan was coming with me. I don’t want to be alone with the others,” he admitted pitifully. 

She hummed in understanding. “Would you feel better if Mari was coming with you?”

His head shot back up, and his face lit up in hope, trying to scan his mother’s face to spot for the any sign of lie. His mother had never ever lied to him though, so he himself knew he wasn’t going to find any. 

He eagerly nodded, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the remaining anxious tears. He straightened back up, and a bubbly smile creeped up on his face. 

Not ten minutes later, a thirteen year old teenager was being pulled by her now shorter mother, with surprising strength, and no matter how hard the girl was trying to drag her feet across the living room, she ended up in the genkan faster than if she had actually went there willingly. 

She grumbled under her breath that she was too old for that class, or that she wasn’t interested in ballet anymore, but really there was really nothing she could do.   
Mari had started with ballet some two years ago, but it had never been more than a fun sport to try out, especially with her mother’s best friend as an instructor. The only reason she had stuck with it as long as she had was for that very reason, and the fact that her little brother had insisted on going. 

Speaking of, the nervous little boy seemed to have been swapped with a cheerful bunny, tugging at her hand refraining from his smile to get too wide in relief of feeling his big sister next to him. 

“Ittekimasu” they both called out in a comical cacophony, her tone vaguely laconic and his nearly chanting. 

“itterashai!” Hiroko replied back, her hands folded together as she watched them go, “Have fun.” 

Mari couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, but a quick glance to her brother who was now looking ahead with determination made her features soften. Yuuri never really pleaded for anything with the conviction he had shown when he had insisted for accompanying her to ballet. 

Of course, with a boy this age it should be expected really. During those six years since he had joined their little family, she had watched him obey every single demand of his parents, agree to most of what others would ask, and run the other way whenever anyone would ask him to show off his whatever achievement.  
Ballet had been the only thing he had actively asked to try, and after watching him go through the drills with her and the other students with more drive in his pinky finger then Mari in her whole body, an unfaltering sense of pride had blossomed in her chest for her little brother. 

Now that she had switched to contemporary dance, she really hadn’t expected to have to go back to ballet. Especially since after she had left, Yuuri had been put in the more appropriate age group, despite his head start and already obvious talent. Oh well… At least she could talk to Minako-sensei. 

They walked in silence for most of the way, her chestnut ponytail swinging from side to side whenever she would check the road before crossing, tightening her hold on the little hand to notify him to slow down. It had become an automatism and the siblings didn’t really need words to communicate. As they approached the studio, she let out a fond huff as Yuuri’s eyes glittered. 

Minako was sitting on her desk with one leg lifted up when they entered. She lifted her gaze upon their arrival, and jerked back in surprise. “Eh? What are you doing here Mari?”

The young girl shrugged, and nudged at her brother who still hadn’t let go of her hand yet. 

“I’m awesome and he likes me too much, so I tagged along” she replied matter-of-factly. Minako subtly raise an amused eyebrow. Yuuri looked up at his sister with a shy smile, feeling grateful for not mentioning his crying. He knew Minako probably figured it out, even if Mari hadn’t said it in so many words, but regardless he was grateful that he wasn’t being reminded of it. 

He looked back toward Minako when she called his attention. 

“Why don’t you go change, Yuuri and then come back here? There’s actually something I’d like to talk to you about.” 

He quietly nodded, and let go of his sister, while they watched him step toward the changing room almost a little warily. Mari breathed out deeply. 

“He didn’t want to come alone,” Minako guessed. Mari shook her head and made her way toward the low bench next to the wall. 

“I don’t know what he’s afraid of…” she laments as she supports her head with both of her arms propped up on her knees. 

Minako hummed. “It’s not very unusual,” she commented and Mari turned her head towards her. “I have a lot of kids here who throw tantrums. One time this little girl ended up having a hysterical crying fit, and she was literally on the floor enwrapped around her mother’s legs.” 

Mari opened her eyes wide. “What the…” she made sure to leave her sentence unfinished. 

“She looked dead scared at the idea she would be left alone here, can’t really figure out why, I’m an awesome teacher!” Mari’s face twitched in a cheeky smile. 

Minako pretended to be hurt “What?” 

The young teenager wiggled her eyebrows and chuckled. “You can be terrifying when you want to.” 

“I am not!” she protested emphatically. “Ok maybe a little, but not with the kids,” she retracted, with a pointed look. 

“Oh I can’t judge that, and honestly I don’t care, I actually like that cause it makes ballet way cooler than I thought it was originally” she snickered. “And I don’t think that that’s what bothers Yuuri, you’re like an aunt.” Minako cooed at that. “To be honest, I’m pretty sure that hesitating to come wouldn’t even cross his if it was just a one-on-one lesson.” 

They stayed quiet after that, and if Mari was paying attention she would have noticed the wheels turning in the older woman’s thoughtful gaze. 

Other students had started to arrive before Yuuri could be out of the changing room, so Minako had to postpone their talk. Not that Yuuri minded much, as he went straight for the farthest corner of the room, waiting for the class to begin. As the children started to pour inside the studio, chatting and laughing, it didn’t escape Mari’s notice that Yuuri didn’t even attempt talking to anyone. She couldn’t help feeling the ache in the pit of her stomach watching him all alone in his corner. 

Despite the movement around, he surprisingly didn’t seem too bothered by it though. She was already well aware that the only reason that made him reluctant in going to ballet alone, or rather be ‘alone’ there, was the presence of the other children. 

He had already dropped on the floor in a front split. Damn how in the world could he do that with barely any warm up at all? Mari’s face contorted into a sulky pout. She had never been able to achieve that. Ever. Good thing she stopped ballet. 

For the next hour and a half, the boy would follow each single instruction without as much as a sound, watching Minako intently and then back right in front of him, his gaze piercing. 

Mari simply stayed put on her bench, content to watch from afar, amazed at the look displayed by his little brother. 

When Minako broke down the class, she handed him his water bottle. “I’m glad I came with you”, she said, smiling as she ruffled his messy hair. The boy didn’t answer verbally, but the adorable shy grin his mouth broke into answered for him. 

“Yuuri, can you come a minute,” Minako called out, standing next to her desk as she looked through some papers. 

“Yes, Minako-Sensei?”

“Have you ever thought about figure skating,” she said after a few more seconds spent examining the documents. Yuuri gaped in surprise. 

“Hum… Not really?” he started, uncertainly. 

“Well I think you should look into it. I have this student who comes from time to time to get help with stretching and to perfect her form in order to improve her skating.” 

Yuuri didn’t really know where this was coming from, nor where it was going, and he was feeling a little thrown off. He started rocking his weight side to side between his feet, and pursed his lips, swallowing. Couldn’t he simply continue with dancing? He liked dancing. In fact he loved it, and he was getting scared that Minako-Sensei didn’t want him to come anymore. 

It didn’t take long to notice the shift and she quickly reached out to set her hand on his shoulder. “Oh don’t worry Yuuri, you can continue dancing as long as you want!” He let out the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding. “I simply think that skating could offer you another challenge.” 

Yuuri frowned, and led his gaze down in thought. To be honest, he didn’t really know what to answer to that. It wasn’t like he had tried ballet because it would be a challenge. He had tried because Mari was going, and then he just started to like it. A lot. 

Minako gently lifted his chin. “You don’t have to quit dancing kiddo,” she reminded him. “You could just try it out, and then decide for yourself if you want to continue.” 

The little boy silently nodded, his face quite unreadable. 

He followed Mari out of the studio. He didn’t utter a sound for the entire way back, and Mari couldn’t help but side-eyeing him warily, even though his face was calm and he didn’t give away any signs of feeling anxious. A little puzzled at the behavior, she followed him with her eyes when he went on to climb the stairs up to his room.

When she turned back, their mother was looking at her in question. Mari shrugged, not sure what to say. “Minako told him he should try skating.” Hiroko nodded, “She was always a fan of skating, “she hummed, looking at where Yuuri had disappeared. 

“Well, I don’t think trying would hurt,” she mused. “Did he panic or something?” 

“No actually,” Mari said, almost in disbelief. “He just listened and then we left.” 

 

A few days later, Minako came by the inn with a young girl and radiant expression. 

“Hi everyone!” she exclaimed as they were both removing their shoes in the genkan and putting on slippers. 

Hiroko popped her head through the door of the kitchen at the noise, and her face lit up. “Ah! Minako-Senpai! Give me only a minute.” 

The ballerina led the girl inside, while Hiroko was probably washing her hands to remove the scraps of whatever she was preparing for the dinner. She came back in the living room, where not many guests were gathered, and went to see to her friend and her protégée. 

“Hello,” she smiled at the brunette who answered with a cute smile of her own, “what is your name darling?” 

“Ise Yuuko,” she answered with a polite bow. “I am a student of Minako-Sensei.” 

“You know I told Yuuri I was helping a young skater?” Minako intervened. Hiroko nodded, and Minako nudged the little girl next to her. “Well this is the one,” she added, padding the little girl’s head. 

“Oh I see!” Hiroko looked delighted as she brought her hands together both palms pressed together. “You must be very talented for Minako to give you special lessons,” she complimented Yuuko. A light blush reached her cheeks, and she positively beamed. 

“I am very grateful of the time Minako-sensei is giving me!” she excitedly said. “I’ll work hard to show it!” 

Minako laughed at the enthusiasm. “You don’t have to prove me anything Yuuko,” the little girl lifted a questioning gaze. “Just do your best and have fun, that’s the only requirement I have at this point!” Minako told her with large smile. 

Yuuko hummed and nodded excitedly. She turned back to Hiroko. “Minako-sensei told me your son is also dancing?” 

Hiroko smiled. “Yes he does, he really likes it too.” Minako propped her elbow on the table, resting her head in her hand. “Actually, about that,” she said with an enigmatic smile, picking Hiroko’s curiosity. “What do you think he would say about meeting Yuuko?”

Hiroko’s head jerked back in surprise. The question could have been expected, but really she didn’t.   
“Last time I told Yuuri about trying out figure skating, he looked surprised, but he didn’t explicitly say no,” Minako explained and when Hiroko gave her a knowing look, she quickly added: “I know, I know, he doesn’t often say no to anything.” Hiroko thinned her lips in agreement. “But still, honestly he looked pretty open about the idea. After he getting scared that I wanted him to stop skating, sure, but after that I could tell he was considering it.” 

Hiroko didn’t look convinced at all, but she gave her friend an expectant look, inviting her to elaborate. 

“Yuuko has been skating for a year now, and her mother asked me if she could take dance lessons to help. The only thing she talks about is how great it is and how much she loves it,” Yuuko chewed a lip at that, the light blush back on her cheeks. “You have seen Yuuri at practice once or twice, right?” Hiroko nodded. “You noticed how passionate he is whenever he practices, and I truly believe that he would love figure skating just as much. That’s why I wanted him to meet Yuuko, so that he could have somebody else’s opinion about it,” she explained. 

Hiroko’s gaze had ducked down in thought, clearly seeing the logic in Minako’s thinking. She just wasn’t sure about how her son would react. If there was one thing certain with Yuuri, is that he didn’t like being pushed, and she was afraid that Minako barging in with an unknown girl wasn’t exactly the best way to make him see the good in the proposition. When she looked back up again, she quickly glanced between the two guests. Minako dropped her hand back down slowly on the table, looking in Hiroko’s eyes intently. 

“What do you think?” she asked quietly. 

“To be honest, I think trying ice skating would be nice! Beside dancing, you know he doesn’t really do much outside of school,” Hiroko quickly reassured. “It’s just that...” she trailed off, trying to find her words. “You know how Yuuri is sometimes, he doesn’t like it when there’s too many people around, or whatever that makes him feel cornered,” Minako nodded, and Hiroko went on, “I think we should maybe wait for Yuuri to decide if he wants to know more about it?”

Yuuko listened intently to the conversation, not wanting to interrupt. She had someone to add to it however. She simply wasn’t sure about the polite way to bring an opinion in an adult’s conversation, and clearly not one that was directly about her. 

She swallowed and quietly cleared her throat. “Ano…” she trailed off. Both women looked back at her, and she suddenly felt very little. She brushed it off by shaking her head. “I think he does want to know more about it,” she noted. 

Both women looked taken aback by her words, and they gave each other surprised glances. Minako turned her head towards her, cupping her shoulder. “What makes you say that Yuuko?” 

The little girl breathed in before pursuing. “Well,” she started with her eyes on the table at she seemingly tried to remember something, “he came by the rink this week. I don’t exactly remember when…” she frowned a little and waved it off, looking back up between the women. “Anyway, he came by when I was practicing, and stayed by the edge of the rink during the entire time,” she informed. 

Her words triggered something in Hiroko, whose features contorted in understanding. That’s why he had been late coming back from school a couple of days ago. She couldn’t make him say why, and she did get a mad at him for disappearing like that. 

“I was surprised because there aren’t a lot of people who come at the rink, just the local hockey team from time to time. So I came up to talk to him afterwards. That’s why I agreed so readily to come with you Minako-sensei!” she added, her excitement back in lacing her tone. “I would have come anyway, but I suspected you were talking about Yuuri because he told me that it was his ballet teacher that made him want to see what figure skating was about.”

Minako’s eyebrows were impossibly high at the confession. “Oh wow, I didn’t expect he’d take it so seriously!” Hiroko smiled, looking up: Of course, Yuuri wouldn’t tell anyone before he would reach a decision. Even at six, that boy was very mature when it came to that. 

When she looked back toward Minako and Yuuko, she caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye and she smiled. “Why don’t you come join us Yuuchan?” she said, glancing toward the stairs. 

Minako and Yuuko followed her gaze and turned around. Yuuri was standing uncertainty on the last step of the stairs, his arms wrapped around the banister and one foot hanging a few centimeters away from the floor. 

Minako’s face wrinkled in a large smile and spread her arms wide. “Yuuri! Come here!” He leveled a gaze at her, a shy smile tugging on his lips. 

He made his way toward the table and hugged Minako back, retreating quickly to circle the table and sit next to his mother. Yuuko was staring at him with wide glittering eyes and a gentle smile. After what she had heard the older women talk about she didn’t want to push him. He waved at her once he was seating. “Hi Yuuko,” he said quietly. 

She beamed again. “Hi Yuuri!” 

“So, what did you think about trying out figure skating kiddo?” Minako reclaimed his attention. 

Yuuri fidgeted on his seat, rubbing his hands together. He wasn’t exactly fond of the attention. “It looked nice,” he started warily. He swallowed to garner up his courage, and looked back up. “I want to try,” he said as clearly and with as much strength as he could. Yuuko let out an excited squeal. 

“That’s so great Yuuri!” she chirped, claping her hands. “You’ll come train with me!” 

He smiled at her, before glancing back toward Minako hesitantly. “I’ll still be able to dance, right?”

Minako laughed and hit the table with the palm of her hand, resulting in both children jumping and Hiroko smiling indulgently. “Of course you silly!” she said between breaths. “Tell you what, I actually thought about something,” she said, her tone conspiratorial, as she leaned lower across the table inviting him to listen closely. 

He frowned slightly and leaned as well. “I was thinking that maybe you’d like your own practice time,” she declared. His eyes grew impossibly wide, and Minako was beyond pleased as she saw how they filled with glitter when his lips broke down into one of the widest smile she ever saw him with. 

He nodded emphatically, unable to find words to express how happy he is. Hiroko laughed and fondly ruffled his hair. “Well that’s settled then.” Yuuri beamed at her in response. 

They spent a while discussing how they would make it work with Minako’s already tight schedule, and packing Yuuri’s with figure skating practice in addition to the dance lessons. Minako and Yuuko ended up staying for dinner after a quick call to her parents so that they wouldn't worry, and Hiroko couldn’t help but smile at seeing her son opening up as much as he did with Yuuko. Perhaps this would be an even better idea than she had thought it to be originally. He was speaking animatedly, and didn’t seem to shy away like he usually did. 

Yuuko’s parents came to get her after dinner, and Yuuri accompanied her to the entrance of the genkan while Minako stayed behind with Hiroko. The ballerina was leaning on the wall with her arms crossed smiling like she just won the lottery, and Hiroko observed the children as Yuuko was tying her shoes. 

“It worked out better than I thought it would,” Minako snickered, echoing Hiroko’s thoughts. “I’m excited to see how he’ll do. We never know, when he tries it he might not like it as much,” she wondered. 

Hiroko chuckled, her hands clasped together resting in front of her. “You saw the look on his face. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that scenario,” she retorted with a gentle smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuko's last name in the anime is Nishigori, but it's her husband's name. So for her maiden name I used the last name of the Japanese actress that's voicing her! :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!


	5. Chapter 5

“Where the fuck have you been?!”

Viktor has barely made it through the doors that he’s assaulted by the bawling of his skater across the ice. Yuri is angrily scurrying towards the edge of the rink, more stomping than skating, drawing the attention of literally everyone around. The older Russian simply harbors his ever calm demeanor, walking quietly towards the set of table a few meters away from the rink entrance. 

“Language,” he deadpans, his tone flat but a clear mischievous look in his eyes. 

“Excuse me?!” Yuri snaps again, his face distorting into his best scowl, but before he can corroborate it with a very unique and personal verbal attack, he’s cut short by the little red headed girl that just followed her father into the rink. She smirks at him, amused beyond measure at how he just froze upon seeing her. 

He swallows back the obscenities that were milliseconds away from being vocalized. “What the heck,” he rectifies, fighting the urge to cringe, “you’re the one arriving forty minutes late, and just waltzing in like it’s no big deal!” 

“I fail to see how does that have anything to do with you needing to watch your language,” Viktor retorts perfectly calm, stifling a smile that of course doesn’t go unnoticed by the blond. But obviously, the argument makes sense, and at the moment he is brilliantly failing at finding a witty comeback. He hasn’t exactly planned on being censored by Ana’s presence, and the next of his angry fit would have included something close to “I have the fucking right to swear, I get to be fucking mad when you’re fucking forty minutes late.” 

Except it isn’t Viktor that has asked him to watch his mouth in front of the kid, and Yuuri is watching from afar with an annoyingly similar expression as Ana. 

Yuri almost has to bite his tongue to avoid it running loose again. He settles on scowling as loudly as he can, and turns his back to the older men. Fuming, he skates toward wherever Minami has been focused on practicing school figures for the past half hour. 

Viktor turns around to look at Yuuri, the smile now wide and bright on his face, and he looks a little too pleased with himself. Yuuri just shakes his head but Viktor doesn’t miss the amused pout on his husband’s face. “You have to admit, he is way too easy to tease!”

“That’s not a reason for you to make it your personal mission to anger him whenever you can,” Yuuri argues back. 

Viktor shrugs. “If you ask me, it’s actually the opposite that would be weird.  
”  
“Of course,” Yuuri says sarcastically while Ana looks like she’s been gifted with the best circus show in town. 

Looking past Yuuri, Viktor’s smile freezes and suddenly turns into the pout of someone who’s acutely aware they might potentially be in trouble. Seeing the change, Yuuri glances behind his shoulders, and burst out laughing. 

He smirks when he gives a pat on his shoulder, “Ok then, good luck there Vitya.” Viktor looks positively appalled by the treason but accept the soft kiss, before Yuuri walks past him with Ana hopping at his side. 

Yakov stares at him, with a clearly exasperated look on his face. “Vitya,” he shuts his eyes as if the sight of him was too much to bear, and the tone is laced with warning. Yup, exasperated. 

Viktor chuckles softly, ducking his head. “Sorry Yakov, perhaps I should back off a little on the teasing,” he apologies with his hands in the air.   
“You think? You’re supposed to be the responsible one.” 

“We both know I’m plenty responsible.” It comes out slightly harsher than expected, but Yakov doesn’t pick up on it. Or at least doesn’t see the point in commenting. Instead he approaches his former skater, crossing his arms. “What took you so long anyway?” 

“Hairstyle issues,” the younger man simply says with the utmost serious. Yakov deadpans for a few seconds, eyebrow shooting up. “Oh boy…” he says rolling his eyes.

They both fall in a companionable silence, looking at Yuuri and Ana on the other side of the rink. The little girl seems to be deep into a fascinating story because she keeps moving her arms around, mimicking with her hands along with her tale and even if Yuuri is busy prepping them to go on the ice, his smile, occasional chuckles and a few glances up at her, are proof enough that he is listening intently. Her hair is styled in two loose French braid on each side of her head, secured with black hair bands that allows the two strands to cascade in her back. 

“She does look cute,” Yakov eventually says with a soft smile on his lips. Viktor beams, unable to part his gaze from his little princess. 

“She is convinced that Lilia is a better hairstylist than I am though,” he says in an exaggerated pretense of bitterness, “I had to step up my game!” 

“Well, she effectively acted as the team’s hairstylist, even if not officially, for almost as long as I’ve been coaching,” Yakov reminds him. 

Viktor hums. The old coach side-eye him, trying to decipher the look on his face, the sudden silence tipping him off. 

He seems to have lost himself in his thoughts again, and Yakov knows that he should probably shake him up before the feeling starts lingering. He clears his throat, and sets a gentle hand on his athlete. 

“You should probably go see to Yura now.” Viktor looks like he is being fished out of a deep sleep, and he blinks a few times before nodding silently. Yakov lets his eyes follow him all the way to the blond who is carefully watching his rink mate’s near perfect combination spin.

The old coach sighs, an edge of defeat settling on the wrinkled features. No matter how much time passes, some scars never truly heal. Glancing down briefly at his watch, he takes a glimpse of the date and can’t help but inhaling a sharp breath. That would explain it, he thinks looking up in the air as if some kind a magical answer was written across the high ceiling. 

A cheerful laugh rings further away on the ice, and Viktor is facing a once again scowling Yuri with his hands on his hips probably making fun of the young man again.

A red flash redirects his attention however, and he turns his head back forward when he catches a sight of Ana running towards him with her skates on. His gaze drifts to the tall figure a few meters away behind her. Not even on the ice yet, he sees Yuuri intently staring at his husband with that very recognizable worried look on his face. 

Now that Yakov is paying a bit more attention, it’s obvious he looks tired, even though the pair of them are far from being left in the dust when it comes down to hide anything remotely close to potentially worry their loved ones. 

He sees Yuuri sighing and swiftly making his way across the ice, calling out his skater with the natural soft expression back on his features. 

“What are we doing today?” Ana chants. Yakov squints back down at her, and she’s just swinging back and forth on her feet with her hands clasped behind her back looking at him expectantly. 

If Yakov is known as a grumpy and vociferous coach, never letting the occasion of giving it straight to his skaters, it has evidently become harder to uphold the persona, as the years have passed. The fact that he has had to endure years of drama queens probably didn’t help either for that matter. 

Looking at the red-headed, his resolve to stay true to his old self was nothing but faltering, even more so when it comes down to her. She is far too charming for that, and looking at this impish look, she probably knows it. He purses his lips thoughtfully for a moment. 

“Start with a few laps,” he begins and she nods eagerly, about to make a bee-line to the entrance of the rink. “Wait, wait, wait Anushka!” She comes right back, and stops abruptly in front of him. He sighs before carrying on, trying to look at her with a serious expression. 

“Afterwards you’ll do:   
-backward alternating cross – toe – toe  
-outside three turns and you change the edge, then cross;   
-back inside edges and back inside double three turns;   
-back inside double rockers;   
-forward inside 3, pull, back inside double 3s;   
-forward inside twizzles;” he enumerates, keeping track with his fingers as he goes. “Everything ten back and forth ways, and if I see even just one that is botched, or not fully properly done, I’ll make you start the whole series again, understood?” he warns, quirking his eyebrow. 

Not that he needs to play tough coach with Ana. It never worked with the last bunch of skaters he trained anyway. Her look has changed, and is now focused and burning with determination. She doesn’t even waver at the extent of the workout. She simply nods, and goes for the ice with the same eagerness as earlier.   
He should probably have been used to it by now, but he finds himself feeling just as awestruck and dumbfounded by her work ethic than he had been the first time he had coached Yuuri, and later herself when she started following her parents’ tracks. 

_This kid could be coming from Mars, there would still be not even a glimpse of doubt as to who her parents were,_ he thought to himself as he watches her getting started on her work-out. 

 

He makes sure to look out for any mistakes during the entire work out, ready to call it out so that she would rectify it. It doesn’t seem like he needs too, because Ana executes every single element perfectly, making sure she gets right back on track whenever she falters. 

He can’t help but scoffs when he sees her going on without a single break despite his advice to take one at least four back-and-forth ways ago. He smiles mischievously when he sees her heavily panting and doubled over. 

She is resting her hands on her thighs in the middle of the ice. If she was cocky enough to think she would be able to do it all in one go, he wouldn’t dissuade her. She’ll know better next time. 

He has to hide his smile when he notices the glance she has been directing toward him for the past several seconds, but he doesn’t have to for long, because he hears the doors open and closed behind him. Looking behind his shoulders, he sees Lilia approaching. She looks thoughtful and he can only guess why. 

From the middle of the ice, Ana is well aware that Dedushka has been eyeing her critically but she is too pride to admit she might have been wrong. 

Still half bent, she rubs her forehead with the outside of her wrist, feeling the sweat there. Dedushka Yakov and Babushka Lilia are close to each other, and seemingly talking about something. 

She cannot make out anything of what is being said, and the only clue she can gather comes from the occasional look that one of them levels toward the other edge of the rink and the frown on Dedushka’s face. 

Looking up, she sees Otousan demonstrating the form Yuri ought to have before entering the spin combination Minami has been working on earlier, and Papa looking intently as Minami is about to enter his jump. 

They would often switch their skaters around if they needed to work on something specific. Since Otousan is better with steps sequences and spins than Papa, then he would often be the one helping Yura with them. Looking after Otousan for so long has made Minami focus way too much on steps sequence, so Papa has to help him with his jumps. 

The little girl stares at them with envy. She cannot wait until it will be her working on these tricks. Dedushka has been perfectly adamant on her not even dreaming about attempting any jumps before he would give the green light for it. 

The reason as to why is still beyond her: if she was to become a skater, the earlier the better right? She isn’t about to tempt fate and overtly defy him on it though.   
He did threaten to pull her away from the ice an entire month if he saw her trying, and no matter how cute her puppy face could look and how much she knows him to be sensitive to it, she has the intuition that he will not budge from that one. 

Her breathing starts to even out, and she straightens back up. She looks over her dads once more. Well, she knows what to do to make the waiting time to start jumps shrink, or at least make it bearable. With a last sharp intake of breath, she pushes with her blade to attack the last part of the work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!!   
> About Ana's work out, I am far from being an expert at ice skating (to be sure I can't even recognize the jumps when I see them), so I found this video on youtube that helped me figure out the elements: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yLsDfcK3h8


	6. St Petersburg,  February 1992

Viktor was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his hands set on his laps with a peaceful bliss settled on his face. His eyes were closed and his head was slightly tilted backward, while his mother combed his hair with the utmost care. 

Larisa swiftly passed the comb through one strand of hair with one hand, and had her other hand ghosting the trail left by the comb merely an instant before. She repeated these simple gestures, up and down with expert hands, and a focus in her eyes that didn’t take away the affection glittering alongside it. 

The sound of someone busying themselves quietly in the back of the room drew his attention just enough to be curious as to what was going on, but not so as to make him open his eyes and put an end to the peace of the moment. 

Barely a few seconds later, a warm air brushed his face, and the corner of his lips were slowly tugged upward in satisfaction. 

His father probably just lit the fireplace, feeling the room with the recognizable murmur of dry log cracking and slowly burning down in the brick cavity. Viktor’s face brightened up even more when he heard another – oh so familiar – noise filling the den, as his mother started humming the lullaby she used to sing when he couldn’t fall asleep. 

If there was something better than mama brushing his hair, it was having mama brush is hair **with** her singing.

He thought that she had the most amazingly soothing voice, even though she would never raise her voice much louder than that.

He could feel himself happily sinking in the moment, basking in the feeling. He didn’t really know what exactly settled him so much when she sang like that, but it always did so regardless. 

Perhaps it was the familiarity of it, the bubble that wrapped him up in a fluffy, cushioned and warm embrace; as if the barely audible but melodious words could reach down to his heart and appease it without even really trying. 

Or perhaps it was simply because she was the one singing. 

He decided both these reasons were valid rather quickly, dismissing the effort it would take to thing the why further through instead of enjoying the effect of it. 

Soon Viktor felt himself being straightened back up by a gentle push between his shoulder blades. He probably dozed off a little, lulled by the humming and the atmosphere of the room. Considering that the comb now laid down on the coffee table, mama probably needed access to the entire length of his hair to finish taking care of it. 

She interrupted her singing. “Braid or pony tail?” she asked. 

It was a little ritual before practice for her to do his hair. Viktor would always sit on the carpet in the living room, between his mother’s legs while she would work her way through the silvery silk. “Braid.”

He usually tended to prefer pony tails for practice, but this time, he really didn’t want to shorten their hairdressing session. 

She resumed her singing, reaching out to the top of Viktor’s head to grab two strands of hair in the middle, progressively adding some from each side as she moved locks from one side to the other. 

Occasionally, she would tug a little too much for it to be entirely comfortable, but not enough to be painful, just to make sure that none wild hair would see it fit to get loose. This part always took a while because of it, and that was exactly the reason why he’d chosen this hairstyle for. 

She stopped much earlier than he expected her to though, and his eyes fluttered open, taking in his surroundings. She was already reaching for a black hair band laying next to the comb with her right hand while the other one is firmly gripped around his hair. 

“What are you doing?” he wondered, genuinely surprised as he was following her movements with his eyes.

She didn’t answer right away, so he waited knowing better than to ask again before she finished up whatever exactly she was doing. He wouldn’t get an answer before anyway. 

She secured the rest of the hair into a pony tail that he could feel starting in the mid-section of the back of his skull. She twisted the band several times, and then tugged the hair to make sure it was holding well. 

Feeling her putting her warm hands on his shoulders he turned his head to the left, lifting it as he tried to make eye contact. She reached down next to his ear before he could do much of that, and told him on the tone of a secret confidence, “I know you prefer pony tails unless it’s an event”, before kissing his chick. 

A smile bloomed on his face, and he playfully rolled rolls his eyes. Using his mother’s knees as support, he pushed on his arms and jumped on his feet, quickly leaving the living room to gather his skates. 

Ivan closed the newspaper he had been quietly reading since he had settled after lighting the fire, and put it down on the table in front of him. 

“He looked like he enjoyed that”, he noticed a flicker of amusement in his tone. 

She chuckled, sitting deeper in the sofa, and crossed her legs. “When doesn’t he?” 

A companionable silence followed, solely interrupted by the log slowly burning or their son talking to himself as he seemed to be looking for something. After a few seconds, an old memory came to her mind, from a few years before.

“By the way, I never asked, why didn’t you want me to take him to cut his hair?” she inquired, looking at her husband as she folded her arms over her stomach. He frowned slightly, trying to figure out where this was coming from. 

He exhaled deeply, meeting her eyes. “For starters, he looks like you”, he stated as if this was the most natural answer possible. 

She welcomed the words, her lips parting a little in surprise. “And the night he was born, started as what I thought would be the worst of my life. After everything we had been through, I thought I was going to lose you, and that is not something I could have lived with”, he paused to allow him to take in a sharp breath. 

She stayed silent, knowing exactly what he was referring to. 

“He came like a whirlwind, like an unexpected meteor that blasted everything on its way in the best way imaginable. He is a living miracle, and that night,” pointing the door of the hallway in which Viktor had disappeared a few minutes before, “that night turned out to be better than even the best I could have ever, in my wildest dreams, hoped for”. 

He let a breathy laugh, as though he still wasn’t really realizing the reality of the situation. 

She definitely didn’t anticipate anything even remotely close to the confidence her husband had just made, and she didn’t stop the lone tear rolling on her cheek from her watery eyes. He smiled and reached up to dry it gently. 

“He looks like an angel, and I wouldn’t change that for anything unless it was what he’d want” he concluded, his blue eyes deep into her light brown one. 

Viktor bounced back toward the living room, obviously not making any effort to be discreet. The adults straightened up, trying to regain their composure before the little silvery head tumbled back with them. Larisa brushed off her hand over her face a second before he did so, and he seemed so focused on his own talking that he probably wouldn’t have noticed even if she hadn’t. 

“Papa, are you going to accompany us to the rink today?” He put down the backpack on the ground, skipping joyfully toward his father. Stopping before him, he swinged back and forth on his feet, both hands clasped behind his back. 

Ivan thinned his lips, brows lifting up in an apologetic expression. “I can’t Lapooshka, I’m sorry”, he smiled sadly, “I have to go back to work”. 

Viktor pout, but it didn’t take long for him to get back to his cheerful demeanor and he added, “Well then, you’ll come later right?” 

Ivan tilted his head sideways about to retort that his schedule for the day will not allow him to promise that. The little bow seemed to read his thoughts though, his crystal blue eyes perfectly mirroring that of his father. 

“Not today, but when you’re not at work!” he chanted, adding a wink for good measure, as if he was offering his father an escape route not to say no. The adult chuckled, extending his hand to tousle his hair, changing his mind at the last minute, patting his head instead to avoid damaging his wife work of art. 

The gesture seemed to satisfy the little boy, and he hopped back to his gear. “Are we going Mama?” he called, already next to the front door, “I don’t want to be late!”  
She rolled her eyes, fond exasperation painted on her face. “Yes, Lapooshka, I’m coming!” 

Larisa stood back up, and turned to her husband. They stayed silent for a few seconds, staring in each other’s eyes as their conversation replayed in the stare. She bent down, kissed him on the corner of his lips and followed their son toward the door. 

 

Larisa was sitting in the bleachers of the rink she had brought Viktor to the first time he had tried skating indoors. He was now making his ways in swift circles around the edge of the rink, lazily pushing one foot after the other in small but powerful thrusts on the ice. 

She was still in disbelief at how much the boy had improved since he had first set foot on the ice. They never meant to get him so hooked about it, when they had organized that small trip to her husband’s native village two years ago. The little town had set up a little rink in the main square, probably not even half the size of this one, and since both parents used to skate with their families as children they had thought it would be a fun experience for Viktor to try as well. 

The silver headed boy had been fascinated by the ice, and had initially refused to set foot on it, in fear of hurting the pristine mirror he couldn’t tear his eyes from. She let out a sigh at the memory folding her hands on her laps. 

And now there he was, drawing patterns across the smooth surface with smug smile and glitters in his eyes. He was a natural, as though he belonged there. And maybe he did. He was tripping off the ice more often than on it. Go figure! 

“He’s your son?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin hearing the low gruff voice next to her. 

Snapping her head around, she glanced at the man standing barely a few meters away from her, in a long dark open coat and a hat in his hand, his eyes transfixed in direction of the rink. 

Staring in confusion, she shook her head quickly and tried to make sure the man had actually been addressing her. Seeing the man looking pointedly at the silver figure now gaining more speed across the ice, didn’t leave much doubt however. Squinting a little in suspicion, she studied him before answering. 

“Yes” she finally said, her tone laced with surprised query. 

“Has he been skating long?” the man inquired again, not even looking at her. 

Finding the attitude somewhat rude, she tried not to show it. She tilted her head sideways and quirked an eyebrow. She kept quiet, mouth shut and staring at the man in an expectant, unabused expression in the hope it’d make him react. 

Eventually it did. After a few seconds of an unanticipated silence, he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes to check if she had heard him. He raised an eyebrow in turn with an unspoken question. 

“Well I thought I would wait for you to look at me before answering,” she stated evenly, as though she was explaining a very obvious truth. 

The other man’s face morphed into that of brief amused realization, shutting his eyes for a second. 

“I’m sorry,” he started, extending his hand. “My name is Yakov Feltsman, I am a coach for the RFSF,” she shook his hand, mildly surprised. “That boy sure looks like he has quite a talent” he added as they both let go, nudging his head in direction of Viktor.

Following the direction, she turned back toward her son, and her lips parted as she saw him skating backward way more rapidly than before. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was preparing himself to do. 

Viktor’s toe pick kicked the ice, taking off in the air. He swirled, both arms draped over himself, before landing on the opposite foot, his other leg extending behind himself as he unfolded his arms, spreading them to the sides. The boy turned back around, with a more than satisfied smirk on his face, and went on skating around the rink as if he simply had bunny hopped across it. 

By then Larisa had stood up, one arm wrapped on her stomach and her hand resting on her hip while the other one was cupping her face while she was watching the whirlwind that was her son coming out of a double lutz that he had literally never attempted before. 

“Who has been coaching him?” the coach asked, harboring an unreadable expression on his face. She sighed and teared apart her eyes from her son to look back at the man next to her. 

Standing one row higher in the bleachers, she stepped down to come closer, folding her arms in front of her when she stopped next to him. 

“No one actually,” she admitted, “he’s never asked for it, and so far it wasn’t much more than a pastime.” That answer baffled the man. His head jerks back and he frowned, intensely looking at her, before glancing back at the boy. 

“Well, perhaps more than a pastime,” she corrected. “He effectively spent half of the past two years either skating, or talking about it” she chortled, meeting the older eye’s in a knowing gaze. 

“It’s particularly surprising that he managed to reach the level he’s at right now without any proper guidance.”

“My husband and I used to skate as children,” she explained, “never competitively though, at least not higher than local events.” She shrugged. “I come with him skating at least a few times a week, sometimes skating with him, and my husband joins us when he has time from work.” 

She paused as her look drifted back toward Viktor who’s readying himself to jump again. 

“He can be pretty stubborn, and when he takes a liking in something, I wish good luck to anyone who will try to take his mind off it,” she continued, entertained exasperation in the smile that formed on her lips. 

“So we give him advices on the best way to enter a spin, or on what edge to skate before what jump. The rink’s coach also helps from time to time, and he participated in a couple of event locally.” The coach nodded at her words. 

She shifted her weigh on her right leg, unfolding her right arm and thumbing in direction of the rink, “That’s the first time I’m seeing him do that one though. Neither of us ever made him learn the lutz at all to begin with. And now he’s pulling off a double lutz” she confessed, emphasizing on the last sentence in disbelief. 

They stayed silent for a little while, simply enjoying watching the boy gliding across the frozen the surface, gracefully weaving his way in between the other skaters on the ice. 

“I would gladly coach him,” the man finally said. 

Larisa turned her head, eyes widening at the unexpected offer. 

“He showed an immense potential for a kid that age, especially considering he never had any real coaching. I think he could go extremely far with the right type of environment, regular practice time and you know, a coach” he continued, moving his hands along, trying to not offend the woman by disregarding her experience as a skater or the advice she and her husband had provided the boy with. Especially since, considering the few jumps and spins he had just demonstrated, they had proven to be efficient enough to let his natural talent start shining. The comment drew a smile on her face, and he seemed to settle, reassured he hadn’t been unintentionally rude once more. 

Folding her arms back, she casted her eyes down in thought. Surely it wouldn’t hurt; quite the opposite really, if the constant babbling of Viktor about how he liked that jump better than that one, and why he liked that day to the rink rather than this one because there were less children around, was anything to go by.

She drew in a slow and deep breath, considering the advantages that would result of such proposition for her son. 

“Do you coach here?” 

He shook his head. “No actually. There is a facility on the other side of town where I train my skaters. Most of them are already at a competitive level, whether juniors or seniors, but I always try to tour the local rink across the city in the hope of finding new potential.” He frowned, trying to go through the list of all the skaters currently training under him. “Currently, your son would be the youngest.”

She quirked an eyebrow at that. 

“I usually don’t take on too many skaters at once, to avoid stretching myself too thin and failing at giving each the attention required to bring them to the highest level,” he elaborated. “There are a couple of other coaches at the rink who are usually taking care of the younger skaters, and I’ll take on those who show the most potential and the right motivation to push through.” 

She nodded in understanding. Not everyone could make it to the top, she assumed. That would never really change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lapooshka: darling, sweetheart.  
> RFSF: Russian figure skating Federation (I looked this up on internet, and I've found different acronyms so honestly I'm not sure which one is right...:/ ) 
> 
> If I'm making mistakes with translations, please tell me and I'll correct it! I don't speak Russian at all, and I'm not proficient enough in Japanese to ensure that all translations are perfectly accurate! :)


	7. Chapter 7

“Minami, watch that free leg, it’s sloppy!” Viktor’s voice rings in the rink, stern as steel. 

Leaning against the railing of the rink with his hands on his hips, he is following every single movement of the skater with a sharp eye. 

Mentally making note of even the smallest flaw in the execution, he would immediately call out on the biggest one, and give detailed feedback later, as Minami would push out of a jump. 

“You’re drilling it into him!” Yuuri chuckles, approaching him. 

The comment tugs a small smile on Viktor’s lips. “You did the same with me. Some jumps I ended up dreaming about because of how much you made me repeat them!” 

“It did work pretty well, if I recall correctly,” he retorts, quirking an eyebrow toward his husband who is now leaning on his elbows propped up on the barrier. 

Yuuri shakes his head. “Never said it didn’t,” he cheekily says, gifting Viktor with a perfected crafted wink. The silver-headed lets out a breathy laugh, rolling his eyes.

“Yurio, you need to hold tight for the second part of your spin combination!” Yuuri says as he is returning his attention to the blond. 

“It’s not my name!” he snaps, but doesn’t stop gaining momentum. 

Everyone has started calling him that almost as soon as Mari set her mind on it, and honestly these days it is almost rarer to hear his actual name than the chosen moniker. 

Doesn’t mean he has to like it obviously, but considering that no one gives a damn if he does or not, he might as well stop calling them out for it. 

He is too stubborn to stop advertising his displeasure on the matter however, so he settles on indulging them whenever they would call him that, but screaming that same scolding systematically. 

“Ok better!” Yuuri praises, “but again!” 

Yuri scoffs, and grabs two strands of his ponytail right next to the band that is maintaining it in place and tugs in opposite direction to tighten it. Then he simply skates onward, checking the route that Minami will take to work on his jumps, and making sure he won’t end up on Ana’s either, who is still pushing through her drills. 

“You seem to like my methods if you start applying them too,” Viktor taunts. 

“Well, we did establish that it works, so why not,” Yuuri shrugs, smiling at the witty comment. 

“You boys should come have dinner tonight.” They both jolt away from the barrier in fright, snapping their head around. 

Lilia is standing on the other side, with a subtle entertained expression on her face. Yuuri lets out a deep breath in relief, with a hand clutched on his heart, while Viktor sets his own back on the barrier, and rubs his forehead with the other. 

“We’d be happy to, but perhaps next time it’s better if we don’t risk our lives when you ask us?” he suggests looking at her critically. 

“You are too easily scared,” she retorts, deadpanning them. She turns to Yuuri. “I have the details of the camp for this summer that I couldn’t give you when you came to the studio last time. I’ll take advantage of you two coming over tonight to hand out the document.” 

Yuuri nods, but doesn’t say anything, and she quickly looks past him, where the two skaters are chatting. 

“Yuri! Minami! You too,” she simply says, raising her voice slightly so that it’ll carry across the ice. The two look at her, utterly puzzled as they haven’t heard what the commotion was about, and exchanging confused glances.

Lilia doesn’t take the time to give any more details than that, and regally turns around. She shoots a last glance at the older pair. 

« I’ll gladly take Anushka tonight, it’s been too long since the last time she spent time with her Babushka!” 

“You see her several times a week!” Viktor protests. 

“At the studio yes. I want to enjoy hot chocolate with the little one from time to time!” 

Yuuri’s brows shoot impossible high while Viktor’s eyes almost disappear under his frown, their face mirroring the exact inverse of each other, in a rather comical expression. 

They shoot each other confused glances. “Since when does she drink hot chocolate?” Yuuri whispers, covering his mouth with his hand as if it was a soundproof protection. 

“I’ve literally never seen her drink anything else than tea for as long as I’ve known her. And that’s been a while! Oh and martinis on special occasions!” 

Although they try to keep their voice down, Lilia swivels around so fast it effectively shuts them up, and they look like children caught stealing in the cookie jar. 

“She likes hot chocolate. So I’ll drink hot chocolate,” she says matter-of-factly, as if she just stated that the sky was blue.

Yuuri bites his lower lip in an attempt to stifle a laugh, while Viktor really doesn’t put any effort at hiding his own and he offers an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry,” he eventually says as she is glaring at them with such intensity he swears he felt Yuuri shrink next to him, “we’ll bring her, along with a bag of clean clothing for tomorrow and pj’s.” 

She looks satisfied and about to turn around once more, when he seems to remember something. 

“Oh but you’ll probably have to take Misha as well! She can’t sleep without her.” he adds, his arm finding its way around Yuuri’s waist and starting to discreetly draw small circles on his hip with his thumb. 

She looks taken aback for the briefest moment, but quickly seems to realize what he is talking about. “Alright then, bring her puppy along, it should be fine.” 

When she is gone, Viktor shifts his body and turns Yuuri in his arms, so that they would face each other. 

“You know what?” he starts, and his husband looks up toward his face with an expectant look. 

Viktor turns his attention away from the door through which they have watched Lilia disappear after a quick kiss on their daughter’s forehead.

“We’ll need to be careful with that one,” he says with a resigned smile and nudging toward the red-headed little girl. 

Yuuri breaks their eye contact to observe her, and his face soon mirrored his husband, although he is still trying to figure out the reason of his fatalistic stance. “Is that so?” 

“Well, she is not even eight yet, and she already has everyone at her feet,” Viktor elaborates to Yuuri’s amusement. 

“I haven’t seen Yakov scream one single time at her in all the time he’s coached her” he raises his thumb, “I have seen Yurio actually bite his tongue for once and not profess obscenities like that’s the only available mean of communication,” his index follows suit, “and now Lilia’s decided hot chocolate is not a sugary weapon of mass destruction and even tolerates dogs! Do you have any idea how hard it has been for me to convince her that Makkachin was not a savage and graceless bear?” 

Yuuri bursts out laughing from the rambling, and Viktor can feel the vibration through his arms as they rest around Yuuri’s waist. 

He quietens in a peaceful smile, watching the smaller man’s cheerful face, warmth spreading in his chest. 

He would never ever get tired of seeing his husband’s features so relaxed and worry-free, and knowing he is the one responsible for half of those moments couldn’t have felt better. The other half could be accredited to their little one, still struggling with her drills over there, and it was just as well, if not better than if it had solely been himself. Their little family was happy, and that was what he wanted to hold on to. 

He suddenly feels an unwelcome and painful lump in his throat, making swallowing difficult. He manages to maintain the happy face, but somehow he knows it will not abuse the man he is holding in his arms. It never has, and it never will. 

As if on cue, Yuuri reopens his eyes, his gaze filled of something soft and caring, and it got lost in the ice blue irises. 

It slowly smears with a glint of bitter-sweetness that Viktor knows all too well. He knows it’s his fault for putting it there, and just as he felt unconditionally happy for making Yuuri laugh, he feels his stomach bottom out for taking the joyful expression away from him.

The smaller man reaches up, cupping his cheek and Viktor leans into it, closing his eyes. He cannot help but tightening his grip around the back of his husband, an automatic response to support himself as he feels vulnerability creeping up on him. Yuuri thumbs his cheek gently in response, pushing his tow in the ice, moving slightly forward to draw closer, but somehow not completely flushing their chest together. 

“Vitya…” he says with a rising intonation, inviting the silver-head to look at him. 

When he does, Yuuri makes sure he is met with nothing but love. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be there, An-chan will be there. Yakov and Lilia too…” 

Yuuri has seen the cheer leave his husband’s eyes earlier, and now he can see the ghost of the smile that has turned bitter a mere moments before, his lips quivering slightly. 

Heavy-heartedly he watches Viktor opening his mouth to say something, but only letting himself take in a sharp breath and breathing it out slowly to allow himself the time he needs to gather his words. 

“It’s been twenty years…” he manages to murmur shutting his eyes immediately after the words were out and despite the short seconds of respite, he hears himself tremble.

Yuuri knows where this is going, and he gently presses a finger on the taller man’s lips. His hand drifts lower to slowly lift Viktor’s chin up, making him open his eyes once more. 

“It could be one, twenty or fifty years Vitya, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change the fact that you are allowed to feel this way, and no one will ever tell you that you shouldn’t. Don’t hide your pain behind jokes and camera smiles, not with us, and please, certainly not with me.” 

The words seem to work their way through, and Viktor relaxes, if only a little. 

Swallowing painfully again, he needs to feel Yuuri against him and he lets his head fall on his husband’s shoulder while he is being pulled into a warm and tight embrace, with Yuuri rubbing his hand up and down in slow motions. 

Around them, training has somewhat followed its course. Yuri is still focusing on his spins, and dividing as much focus toward his execution as he is toward trying not to scream snorty comments at the pair for losing sight of why they are on the ice in the first place. 

He knows better, so he just does his best to shut up, even if it is physically paining him. 

Minami on the other hand, is flubbing half of his jumps because he is moderately less good than his rink mate at compartmentalizing his focus into evened sections, and he is painfully aware of it, if the bruises forming on his hips are anything to go by. 

As for the last tandem, Yakov purposely keeps the conversation going with Ana, in a rather failed attempt to distract her from throwing clearly worried glances every other second toward her parents. She might have been seven, but she is far from oblivious. 

There isn’t anything he can do about it however, so he simply tries to recall her attention as many times as necessary, whenever he can see her gaze drifting away, and her form loosening up. 

 

The ride over to Yakov and Lilia’s house has been thankfully short considering how rocky it quickly became: the skaters seemed to have decided that choosing the music was a matter of life or death while the seven-year old – that could easily have been mistaken for a living jukebox – was able to follow the lyrics of all the songs the 'supposedly' adults seating either side of her fought over. And if that wasn’t enough Misha was adding the harmony to the songs by howling and barking happily. 

When they finally reach the house, Viktor parks next to his old coach’s car and hushes everyone outside. He effectively manages to empty the car of its passengers, but that doesn’t make them tone down their voices in the least, even if technically there isn’t anything to fight over anymore. 

Viktor lets out an exhausted sigh as he is standing next to the car sandwiched between the vehicle and the still open door, keys in hand and leaned on the flat car roof. 

Yuuri addresses him a smile to soothe him, and nudges his head toward the house behind him. As Viktor circles the car, Yuuri has already let an excited puppy out and is tugging her leash. He extends his free hand and Viktor absentmindedly clasps his fingers with his husband’s. 

“I swear these three are the human version of a headache” Viktor complains dramatically. 

“I can’t really argue with that” Yuuri relents, amused. “But to be fair, if headaches were always this cute I probably wouldn’t complain,” he adds nudging his husband to look at the three walking a few meters away from them. 

Ana has kidnapped one hand to each skater and has managed to make them comply in swinging her forward after gaining momentum, running the three leaps she needs to “fly high” as they can hear her giggle. At least now neither Minami nor Yuri is arguing and they look so focused that it pops up Viktor’s dramatically expression with a burst of laughter. 

Yakov is the one welcoming them at the door, and despite having seen them less than a few hours ago, he surrounds his ‘grand-daughter’ in his arms as if she could vanish at any second.

At the sight, Viktor elbows his husband with a playful smirk. “Told you, we’ll need to watch her, soon she'll control us all!” Yuuri stifles his laugh, but they’ve all heard it and they all know what he meant by that. 

Yuri obnoxiously bursts out laughing when Yakov’s face surprisingly turns a shade pinker. The older man stiffens somewhat but it doesn’t take long before his attention is being pulled back towards the fiery little girl. 

While they all go inside, Minami who has stayed relatively quiet since their argument died out earlier, catches Yuri’s arm at the nudge of the elbow to stop him from following the others. The blonde turns back to his rink mate, puzzled. 

A few years back he probably would have kicked him for daring touching him like that, but they’ve come to know each other far too well for that and to be quite honest even without the anxious expression that Minami was now wearing on his face, anger wasn’t his default reaction anymore.

Yuri frowns, scanning Minami’s face. The Japanese’s gaze is still following their coaches stepping down into the large and bright living room in a comfortable chatting. Minami looks back toward Yuri, who simply shakes his head silently, prompting him to spill whatever is on his mind. 

“You’ve noticed right?” he finally says, his voice so low Yuri might not have caught the words if he hadn’t been looking at him. His face is one of understanding. 

He doesn’t need to think too much to know what his friend is referring to. He hums, thinning his lips. 

“Do you know why?” Minami presses, worry obvious in his tone. 

Yuri does, but he doesn’t really know how to bring up the topic. For one, it’s not really his story to tell, and for two even if it was, he’s not sure he would want to follow down that road. 

He swallows, his mouth resolutely shut, but Minami is still looking at him intently, his brows slightly furrowed. 

“I…” he starts. He feels torn between being honest but potentially betraying a trust he never wants to risk shattering again, and lying and effectively excluding one of his annoyingly best friends out of the loop, potentially hurting him in the process. 

Minami doesn’t ask again but he’s still waiting. Yuri opens his mouth again, subtly releasing the breath he has kept in and shakes his head. 

“No. No I don’t know…” he finally says lamely. He is perfectly aware that his voice probably betrays him. 

Minami breathes in a sharp breath, and releases it slowly. Yuri isn’t sure what that means, but he’s afraid that it’s probably the result of his pathetic attempt at lying.   
The Japanese thins his lips but beyond that, his face isn’t betraying anything in regards to what he is thinking. 

“Shoganaine,” he finally sighs letting his arms fall back to each side of him. 

_‘It can’t be helped’ he said._

Yuri might not be on the same level as the rest of them in Japanese still but he has heard Katsudon say it so many times since they met he would never be able to forget the meaning. 

Perhaps he wasn’t so obvious in his lie. It was rather rare for him to fumble over his own words, and usually everything would come out confidently enough, even when he had to lie. 

He doesn’t want to dwell on trying to wonder why this isn’t as easy this time. He shakes his head quickly in a vain attempt of clearing out the guilt threatening to gnaw at him. He regains his composure quickly and shrugs.

“Let’s join the others.” Minami nods and simply follows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it and don't hesitate to leave comments! :D


	8. Hasetsu, November 1995 and September 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! You may or may not have noticed, but I've added a couple of tags! I said earlier chapters that I would notify you if I were to do that, so there you go!  
> I am mentioning bullying in this chapter, but there isn't anything explicit! Also, panic attack! 
> 
> Hope you still on board, and that you'll enjoy this chapter! :)

**November 1995**

Yuuri wanted to follow Yuuko who was already flying across the frozen surface, but he was still unsure as to what exactly he was supposed to do if he didn’t want to fall. 

“Come on Yuuri, you can do it!” she cheered him on, smiling brightly as he desperately clung to the railing. 

Minako was watching a few meters away, next to Yuuko’s coach, both unable to suppress the grin on their faces as they intently looked at how Yuuri’s legs were escaping from under him while his upper body stayed glued to the railing. 

“I don’t want to fall!” he cried out panicked. 

“You’re not going to,” Yuuko promised, pushing forward to come closer. 

Yuuri had managed to stand upright again, but that didn’t mean he intended to let go. He glared at her. Hadn’t she seen him almost falling right there, even though he hadn’t even actually started trying to skate? 

He was literally thirty centimeters away from the rink entrance, and he was still asking himself why he wasn’t making a bee line to escape the slippery ice. 

She smiled indulgently, and extended her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you,” she said softly, bending a little forward. 

He shook his head forcefully, his glasses almost flying off his nose. “No, you go!” he replied. “I’ll watch from here,” he said with more confidence than he actually felt. 

She retracted her hand, and if she looked upset, she didn’t show any signs of it. 

“Alright then!” She turned around and started pushing away, before twizzling once more facing the little boy whose arms and hands clenched for dear life to the railing. “You should probably remove your glasses if you don’t to break them,” she advised just as she brought her hand to her nose to illustrate her words. 

And off she was. 

Yuuri let out a sharp breath in disbelief not sure he’d heard correctly. He couldn’t even stand upright on this thing, and now he was supposed to try without seeing anything?

He looked down at the ice underneath the blades of the ugly blue rental skates that he had borrowed and let out a huff of frustration. He really hadn’t expected it to be this hard. 

When he had come to watch Yuuko last time, it looked like she had been flying across the smooth surface, as if it didn’t require any effort. Her heavy breathing and the droplets of sweat on her forehead when she had approached him begged to differ, but really while she was actually performing some skills it looked incredible. 

He had recognized how it was related to ballet, and really he had wanted another chance of feeling the way he was when he was wearing his comfortable worn-out slippers. 

The scratching of the ice from across the rink pulled him out of his thoughts, and effectively attracted his eyes onto Yuuko’s small and graceful frame. She was practicing a series of twizzle, starting with one rotation, then two, then three, then back to one. 

Yuuri was mesmerized and unlike Yuuko’s coach whose attention had been drawn back to his skater, Minako’s gaze was still focused on Yuuri, and she was grinning at how adorable the little boy looked. 

She quietly walked toward him, and cleared her throat to alert him of her presence. He swiveled around so fast he lost his balance again, and tightened his grip to the barrier with a yelp. 

“Minako-sensei!” he exclaimed once he deemed himself not to be in fatal danger of falling. “Don’t do that!” he complained with an accusatory tone. 

“What? Walk freely along the edge of the rink you mean?” she smirked, and Yuuri pouted knowing she wasn’t exactly in the wrong here. 

“Why are you still here?” she asked more seriously, her face finding its neutrality back. The sudden question threw the raven-haired little boy a little off, and he frowned, tilting his head sideways. 

“Don’t you want to do like Yuuko?” she questioned, her tone heavy with implications. She was teasing him, pressing on his competitive string. It seemed to be working, because Yuuri’s eyes immediately burned with his determination anew, and he shot her a daring glance. 

“Of course I do!” 

“Then answer this for me, why are you still here, clinging at the railing like a baby dear?” she said with mirth in her eyes as she took in her protegé’s expression. 

He paused for a second, not sure why her words had struck a nerve, but as he considered them, he knew she was right. Yuuri exhaled slowly, and used the barrier to turn around on himself, facing away from his ballet teacher. He had come all the way here, and he wasn’t going to quit now. 

He was with Minako and Yuuko and he knew that none of them would laugh at him if he suddenly dropped on the ice like a cloth puppet which strings would have been cut off. 

His jaw was clenched, tense, and he swallowed heavily, dreading the pain he will automatically feel if he ended up falling. He turned his head when he heard scratching approaching, and he saw Yuuko skating by him, and starting her twizzles after passing him. He had had a chance to see how she was holding herself last time he came to the rink, and he didn’t let the opportunity of doing it again this time. 

Whenever she was simply skating forward, her knees were a little buckled and her upper body was slightly bent forward in order to maintain her balance even as she was pushing onward energetically. 

He brought his focus back to himself, and in a sudden surge of courage, he removed his left hand from the railing slowly. He worried his lower lip in expectation for a possible fall, but nothing came so he let out the breath he had apparently been holding. 

Carefully he used the right toe pick of his skates to initiate movement, and he stopped the momentum almost immediately as he felt himself skating. His eyes widened and he glanced between the floor and back at Minako who was grinning at him. 

She tilted her head as if to say “See I told you” and he couldn’t help but smiling back, as he felt a warm bubble grow in the pit of his stomach, making him want to giggle. 

Before he could move again, she stepped forward with her hand extended. “You should follow Yuuko’s advice and put down your glasses Yuuri.” 

He looked uncertain, and his eyebrows knitted together in an anxious expression. She raised an eyebrow in response, moving her hand to let it rest on her hips. “Keep them then, but be careful,” he relaxed at that, and smiled shyly. 

He turned back around and tried again, a little more intently this time. He released his grip from the barrier slightly, allowing his hand to slide across it in order to follow him as he carried on skating, one push after the other. 

He felt the smile grow bigger at each successful stroke forward, and he couldn’t help but glance to his feet to see how they had managed to figure out how to move. 

After a few seconds however, he finally realized he wasn’t holding the railing anymore, and in fact wasn’t even remotely close to it. Suddenly the excitement was gone, replaced by a panic that quickly built up.

He tripped over the toe pick and went crashing on the cold surface with a cry. His glasses fell off his nose, before he even touched the ice, and they were shattered barely a few steps away from where he was splayed out across the ice. 

He whimpered, feeling a sharp pain in his right knee from where he had crashed first, and his stomach felt weird after the impact. He heard Minako call out for him, her voice slightly higher pitch than usual, and he figured the hurried scratching was from Yuuko making her way up to him. 

He didn’t want them to be all over him in worry. So he did the only thing he could think of: get up. He used his hands to push himself up, breaking contact between his now damped shirt and the stinging cold of the ice. He rested his weight on his knee for a second, breathing in and out sharply to regain control over his shaking limbs. 

Then he managed to get back on his feet, and his arms went fumbling all around him as he struggled with finding back his center. Once he managed to stabilize himself, he froze with his arms wide and tried to see if he was at risk of another fall. 

Yuuko had stopped skating when she had seen him trying to get up, and now she was a few meters away from him beaming proudly at what Yuuri had just done. He noticed her shadow from the corner of his eyes, and warily turned his head toward her. 

She took that as an invitation and skated on, stopping very close to him. She looked at him with wide open eyes, asking for permission to take his hand. He placed it in her warm grip and used her as support to straighten a little back up, and making sure he wouldn’t fall on his behind by standing too straight. 

“You know, that’s the very first thing we all need to learn,” she finally said, still unmoving. He glanced up at her with a questioning expression. 

“And what’s that?”

“Falling,” she answered smiling as if she had said that she had learned how to fly. 

Yuuri’s face crunched in an adorably pouting expression and she giggled. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” she chastised in a playful tone. “Once you know how to fall, it doesn’t have to hurt anymore.”

His face relaxed a little. He couldn’t really argue with the logic. “If you think that you can do figure skating without falling, you’re wrong,” she added with a serious expression. 

He swallowed at the words, looking back to his knee, from which he could still feel a dull throb of pain shooting in his leg. But then, crowding out the pain, he remembered the bubbly joy he had felt right before he had panicked and lamely crashed on the ice. 

It had felt incredible and he would give anything to experience such weightless happiness again. 

“It looks like you’ve mastered the first lesson though,” he heard Yuuko say as she tugged his hand slowly and with care to prompt him to follow.

He pushed forward and managed to catch up next to her a little warily at first, and then as they skated a few more meters it became easier, especially with Yuuko’s hand clasped in his in support. He didn’t doubt that she wouldn’t let him fall again. 

He was curious as to what lesson he had mastered though, because all he was sure to have succeeded was to make a fool out of himself. “What’s the lesson?”

She laughed, and answered earnestly. “Getting back on your feet Yuu-kun!” 

He blushed furiously at the honorific, and almost stumbled again but she stabilized him before he did, laughing again. 

 

**Hasetsu, September 1999**

 

Yuuri rushed about down the stairs so fast he almost ended up falling on his butt after slipping on one step and catching the railing in extremis.

“Oh my, Yuuchan are you alright?” he heard his mother’s worried voice from the kitchen and hurried steps in his direction. The noise hadn’t exactly been discrete, and now Yuuri was afraid he might have alerted the entire onsen.

“Yes, yes I’m alright! I’m sorry I made all that noise,” he replied hastily, his apologetic gaze flickering to where his mother was standing with an apron around her waist and wooden spatula in her hand. 

She smiled gently, reassured he was fine. “Late again hum?” she guessed, her tone laced with critical amusement. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last time. 

Yuuri seemed to be inexplicably incapable of getting up on time in the mornings. Or maybe not so inexplicably.  
“Did you play with your game-boy too late again last night?” 

Yuuri froze as he was sitting on the step of the genkan, lacing up one of his shoe. “No?” He cursed himself for the interrogative tone he answered with, and immediately wishing he could take the words back. 

“I-I just hum…” he stammered, wracking his brain as he tried to find an at least decent excuse. “I just studied late,” he finally settled on, and he really hoped this sounded more convincing to his mother than it did to him. 

Hiroko’s smile didn’t waiver but her eyes would have told Yuuri exactly how convincing she had deemed the words to be if only he hadn’t kept his gaze glued to the floor.  
Her boy seemed to have forgotten that Hiroko had been a child herself, and after raising both Mari and Yuuri she was well-trained in spotting the lies. She couldn’t blame her boy for trying however, he was still only nine after all, and he would come to learn very fast that he would need to invest much more effort than that If he ever hoped to fool her. 

“Of course Yuuchan,” she said all milk and honey, “I trust you’ll bring back perfect grades then!” 

Yuuri felt a cold shudder down his spine at the statement, and he truly hoped that he wouldn’t get surprised with a pop-quiz today. He half-heartedly chuckled, not trusting any more words that would come out of his mouth. 

He quickly finished putting on his other sneacker, and threw his backpack onto his back. He waved his mother with the familiar “Ittekimasu,” and launched past the sliding panels as fast as he could before his mother could barely finish saying “Itterashai”. 

Once he was away from her prying eyes, he slowed down, and his pace became lukewarm to say the least. He dreaded going to school these days, and the unpleasant and dread ominous feeling that imposed itself on his mood every morning was here once more. 

The truth was, he had been playing video games late. But this hadn’t been the reason he couldn’t wake up. His sleep had been agitated by vivid nightmares, every single one worse than the previous. 

Since he had started skating, his life had become ten times better and ten times worse all at once. 

After each passing day, he had realized how much he had been wrong about believing he could come to enjoy skating. The still hesitant bubble of joy that had settled that first day on the ice only grew brighter, more euphoric and more powerful and every second he spent on the pristine surface was like he could smell, breath, see, and touch happiness itself. 

He didn’t _enjoy_ skating. He _loved_ it. 

He had started coming more often to the rink after a year, and his after-school time was divided between dancing lessons and skating practices, occasionally seeing Yuuko in the former, and systematically seeing her in the latter. One of her friend had started coming to the rink not long after, and despite somewhat of a rough start, they were getting along now. Most of the time at least. 

When he had first met him, the boy was already much bigger than a six-year old Yuuri and he had made a terrifying impression. It didn’t help that the newcomer seemed to immediately consider Yuuri to be a worthy scape-goat when Yuuko wasn’t giving him as much attention as she was to Yuuri. 

A few weeks after first trying out skating, Yuuri had managed to master his balance much better, and he had felt incredibly proud when he showed to Yuuko how he could stop properly now. The feeling didn’t linger however, because not a minute later, Takeshi was bumping into him, effectively throwing the smaller boy off balance and he came crashing to the ice for the millionth time.

Yuuko had screamed then, along with all of the other times Takeshi invented some other stupid ways to tease him. When Takeshi finally figured out that perhaps, picking on Yuuri wasn’t the best way to gain Yuuko’s sympathy he had slowed it down a notch, and instead helped the younger boy from time to time. Before either of them had realized they had become quite good friends. 

Oh for sure, Takeshi would still find ways to endlessly tease Yuuri, but it was nothing but harmless now and Yuuri wasn’t left in the dust when it came to reciprocate. 

Now, as he was walking on the deserted sidewalk, he wished he had considered Takeshi’s teasing with a little more indulgence. It probably would have helped him to better cope with the whole new level of it he was experiencing at school because of some of the boys of his grade. 

When one of them had come to the rink for whatever reason Yuuri couldn’t make out, he had seen Yuuri practicing with Yuuko, Takeshi only sitting on the bleachers at that point, and he didn’t lose time spreading the rumors about ‘Yuuri the dancing fairy’. 

Most people in his class had been indifferent, but all that was needed was one or two imbeciles to follow the lead of a bigger, but more charismatic imbecile. And there Yuuri was: mocked and molested at recess, lunchtime and if an opportunity presented itself, during class as well. 

He hadn’t talked about it to anyone of course. He didn’t want to have anyone worry over him, especially since, all things considered it wasn’t that bad most of the time. 

He tried to spend most of his time with either Yuuko or Takeshi whenever he could, because having two sixth-graders alongside you represented the ultimate protection against fourth-grade brats whose only ambition was to feel better about themselves by picking on someone else. 

Targeting the skating had only been an excuse, and Yuuri was determined not to let the insults lessen his will to practice harder every day. 

When he wasn’t with either of his friends however, avoiding the group was the last resort solution, but unfortunately it didn’t work all the time. 

It hadn’t earlier this week at least, and he had come home with a bloody nose, and scraped knees and hands. He’d made a bee line to his room, ghosting past the den before anyone could take a good glimpse at the state he was in. 

He knew what was waiting for him at school today, with both Yuuko and Takeshi out for a field trip to some place he hadn’t remembered the name of, and he couldn’t deny that he was terrified. 

When he came in the vicinity of his school despite all his efforts to drag his feet, he felt his throat clench up as the anxiety was building up in the pit of his stomach.

He was already ten minutes late, but he couldn’t decide if he felt relieved for the fact he wouldn’t come across the dreaded group earlier than the next recess, or be restless knowing he was inevitably going to be the center of the attention the second he’ll be past the classroom door. 

Regardless, he didn’t have a choice. Postponing the inevitable will only make him feel worse for longer. After an additional five minutes lost in the stairs, he found himself staring at the sliding panel of his classroom as if his gaze would somehow pierce through the wood and allow him to see inside. 

He didn’t know what good that deed would bring him, but at least thinking about it was occupying his mind off the sick feeling in his stomach, and buying himself time before he’ll have to face the brutal reality of his day. 

“Yuuri?” 

Yuuri jolted away from the door in surprise, snapping his head around in the direction of the voice. 

“Ah, sensei!” he exclaimed upon seeing his teacher closing the few meters that separated them. He bowed deeply as the man came closer, and blurted out his apology so fast that a puzzled expression flashed across the teacher’s face. He couldn’t misinterpret the gesture though, so he didn’t insist on Yuuri reiterating the sentiment. 

“It’s the third time this week Yuuri,” he said critically, but not unkindly. 

The boy swallowed, and looked up a little warily. The school policy was rather strict, especially regarding lateness. He had arrived leate more times that he could count since the beginning of the year, and he didn’t want his teacher to think he was making a habit out of it. Although, objectively Yuuri really couldn’t have blamed him for thinking that. 

“I am very sorry Uesaka-Sensei,” he said once more, for lack of a better idea. Uesaka hummed, and finally waved it off, nudging casually the door with his arm. 

“It’s alright, just get settled fast and start working on the exercise I’ve assigned. It’s all written on the board.”

Yuuri sighed in relief, sliding the panel with his head ducked down; hoping no one inside would have the urge to check the provenance of the noise it made. The teacher followed Yuuri and slid back the panel for him, making it back to his desk in silence. 

The nine-year old hastily sat down, his eyes still glued downwards as he fumbled through his back pack in order to get his pencil case and notebook. After a brief glance up to the board he went to fetch the appropriate textbook from the compartment underneath the desk only to find that it was gone. 

He frowned, confused. He was sure he had left it there the day before because they didn’t have any homework on it. 

He twisted his body awkwardly in a position that would allow him to have a better look without falling off the chair, and indeed the book wasn’t there. In fact, the compartment was completely empty. 

He let out a shuddering breath in disbelief when he found a note instead, plastered on the upper part of the compartment. 

It had been glued to the wooden surface, and he had to be very careful not to rip it involuntarily. 

He opened it hurriedly as soon as he had straightened back up, his face contorted in a disbelieving expression. He was expecting to read something callous, already knowing who was behind the disappearance of his school supplies, but hoping he was mistaken. 

He should have known better than to hope for fairy tails however. And indeed, the words carelessly thrown on the page were nothing short of malicious and it made him gasp as his stomach bottomed out. 

He immediately snapped his gaze back up towards the other hand of the room where he saw them all four with smug faces, mocking him and snickering at his misery. 

Yuuri felt his throat clench up once more as tears started welling in his eyes. He heaved shallow breaths and he clenched his jaw shut as he tried to stifle back the sob that was threatening from passing his lips, making his chest tighter with the now trapped air. 

He wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction of seeing him cry, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer either.

Crumpling the note in his hand, he sprang on his feet, and slammed the closest panel open in a loud crash. Ignoring the calls from his startled teacher, or the confused look most of his classmates probably threw him as he ran out as fast as he could, he didn’t miss the sound of the bullies exploding in laughter. 

The sound was ringing in his ears and it stung. Badly. 

He made it to the closest bathroom, and as soon as the door was shut down behind him, his knees buckled from underneath him, and he dropped to the floor next to the door, his sobs ripping the silence of the deserted and cold room. 

He curled up on himself, bringing is knees close to his chest and buried his face in the nudge of his crossed arms there, looking immensely smaller than he really was with the sobs wracking his body. 

_Why, why, why, why why?_

The word was on repeat in his mind as he cried his eyes out. They had taken his textbooks, books, and spare pen from his desk, replacing it with the wretched note he was still holding in his hand. _“They wanted to swim,”_ it said.

They probably had thrown it all in the pound in the back of the playground, not caring at all about the cost it would represent to replace it all or how problematic it would be for Yuuri to catch up all of the notes he had taken in the notebook, not to mention all the quizzes and tests that had been among them. 

On second thought, they probably did care, and that was exactly why they had done it. He angrily tossed the paper away, letting go of his knees, and still weeping loudly. 

His head started to feel hazy, as if his brain was swimming and he couldn’t manage to control his heavy breathing as it started to come more frenetic and uneven. 

His lungs were on fire, and the tears were burning his eyes, each new waves trailing down his cheeks and wetting his shirt and pants whenever they would crash down.

He coughed in between shallow breaths, the dizziness only getting worse as his heart rate picked up, and the painful pumping was only made worse by how squizzed his chest felt, as if it was compressed under the weight of the helplessness and despair. 

It was suffocating, like someone was choking him and he didn’t realized that the sobs had stopped; only replaced by the racking noise of the gasping that had replaced his normal breathing. 

He didn’t register the door opening, or someone saying something that resembled to his name. 

He felt as though an opaque vale was clouding the outside world, muting everything else that wasn’t the numbness in his head, or the excruciating feeling of his lungs on fire.

His vision lost focus and the only thing he could see were bright dots flashing before his eyes, slowly dulling and the colors seemed to vanish, and then nothing. 

Nothing but an empty and painful darkness. 

 

His eyes fluttered open slowly. 

Where was he? What had happened? 

His head was pounding from what was definitely the worst headache he ever had and he was having a very hard time filling in the blanks of the past hours. 

Looking around, he realized he was in his room, the familiar shapes of the furniture and the comforting warmth and material of his sheets around him making up for the obvious absence of his glasses. 

Having figuring that out counted as progress, but objectively it still wasn’t very helpful in understanding the _‘why’_. He felt drained and trying to remember wasn’t helping with the blood thrusting in his ears. 

He winced, and tried to move when he heard his door being gently opened. “Yuuchan?” 

The voice was soft and full of concern. He made out the shape of his mother crouching next to his bed, quietly stroking his hair away from his forehead. 

“Okaasan?” his voice was hoarse and it almost startled him as he heard it. He cleared his throat, ignoring the dull pain in the back of it and tried again. 

“What happened?” If he couldn’t remember by himself, perhaps his mother would help. 

He couldn’t make out her expression without his glasses, but he didn’t need to with the tone the next words came out in. 

“You had a panic attack baby,” she said, still caressing his head in soothing motions. “Your teacher found you in the bathroom after he followed you when you stormed out of the classroom.” 

The words triggered the images to flood back his mind like polaroid pictures, streaming by fits and starts. He frowned, still unable to replace what had brought his actions about. 

“You were on the floor, and you were hyperventilating. You fainted barely a few seconds after he found you.” Her voice creaked on the last statement, and she sniffed back. 

The little boy was so confused. He couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, but it had been bad enough to shatter his mother’s cheerfulness bubble and he couldn’t help feeling awful because of it. He had no idea what either 'panic attack' or 'hyperventilating' meant. But whatever it was, it was making his mother sad. 

It was probably his fault, he surely had done something stupid again and now his mother was almost crying. 

The swirling of thoughts was interrupted by another voice. “How are you, little man?” It was his father this time, approaching to sit on the bed close to his mother, his hand going up and down Yuuri’s arm once or twice in comfort.

Now that he had heard his mother’s emotions, he could very well discern the concern masked by the animation of his father’s voice. He didn’t want to worry his parents more than they were already worried, especially not over something he probably had coming. 

He willed his face to smile as sincerely as possible, and glanced between the two adults. “I’m fine, I just have a little headache,” he admitted. 

Whole heartedly lying wasn’t his forte, and he if he had hazy memories of what had happened exactly earlier, at least the morning discussion he had had with his mother came back to the forth of his mind, and he knew that she would see right through him if he did. 

“You should sleep Yuuchan,” his father finally said. “Come on, anata, let’s let Yuuri rest,” he added, bracketing Hiroko’s shoulders with his hands, and gently prompting her to get back up.

She bent down again and left a kiss on the still-little-boy’s forehead, who squeezed his eyes shut at the gesture. She lingered close to his face, thumbing his cheek as she whispered: “Sleep well Yuuchan, I love you.” 

“I love you too Okaasan,” he said before letting his eyelid droop, the exhaustion returning full force and he marveled into the relief of closing his eyes shut completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was Yuuri's first panic attack, which is why he has no idea what it means; and since he can't remember precisely what happened beyond the flashes of memories he just had, he can't really make out his own conclusion about it! 
> 
> I hope you liked that chapter!! :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally uploading this! Sorry for the delay, midterms didn't exactly agree with me spending time writing!^^  
> Hope you'll like this chapter!

When Minami and Yuri emerge in the living room, Ana is bouncing on the couch despite Yuuri trying to hold her down, and Viktor is sitting next to him waiting for Yakov to come back with their drinks as they all chat. 

“Are you all going to go back to Japan during the summer?” Yakov asks as he is facing the large wooden sideboard. 

One of the glass upper cupboard is open, revealing neatly arranged whisky glasses and he is holding a half-empty bottle pouring some of the amber content in one of them. “Also Yuuri, are you drinking whisky tonight?” he adds before any of them can answer the first question. 

“Hum” is all Yuuri can manage at the moment, as he looks back up at Yakov with a hand on Ana’s shoulder. He looks at what Yakov is doing and nods. 

“Yes sure, but not too much! Thank you Yakov. An-chan please can you sit down properly baby” he adds as he turns his attention back to the red-headed electric power plant.

The little girl immediately settles down with a sheepish smile. This might has well become her signature move considering how much she uses it. Worst part, it works each and every time and everyone melts upon seeing it. 

“Damn, girl you have them all wrapped around your finger” Yuri smirks as he sits down in a plush armchair across the coffee table on which Yakov is setting two glass coasters in front of the couple and placing their glasses on them. 

“You’re one to talk” Viktor retorts, mischievously grinning as his head is resting on his propped up hand on the arm of the sofa. Yuri’s features fall and he scowls toward his coach in order to hide the blush he knows has creeped up on his cheeks.

Minami snickers next to him and Yuri elbows him in the chest. The Japanese gapes, pretending to be hurt as he stifles a laugh. 

“You know what, whatever!” He gives up throwing his arms in the air before letting them fall on his crossed knees. 

“So, this summer? Japan?” Yakov prompts as if there hasn’t been any interruption at all. And Viktor answers exactly in the same way. 

“Yes, Yuuri thought it would be good for Minami to get closer to his family at least for a little bit, and at least we’ll be able to see the Katsukis and enjoy the onsen too.” 

Minami’s face settles into a grateful smile as he looks at the couple. 

His grand-mother wasn’t getting any younger, and with their intense training, going back and forth between Russia and Japan wasn’t exactly the definition of practical. He had assumed his coaches had known this of course, although he’d never actually said it. He didn’t expect Yuuri to simply announce that they were probably going to go back for the summer though. If his coach had not specified explicitly that one of the reason was for him to see his grandmother, the knowing smile he had harbored and the intensity of his look had given him away easily enough. 

“I know my mother has been asking relentlessly for us to visit, but the year has been hectic,” Yuuri explains, nodding knowingly to Minami before looking back towards Yakov. “She’ll be happy to see us, but probably upset we cannot bring An-chan with us”. 

It’s subtle but the tense edge that his tone takes before he reaches the end of his sentence doesn’t escape the rest of them. Well except for the concerned little girl who swivels around on the sofa, moving one leg up on it to face her father. 

“I’ll be at the camp, right?” she excitedly asks. “Right dedushka?” she adds turning her head toward Yakov who allows one of his rare smile to claim his lips. 

“Yes Anushka, you’ll stay with dedushka and babushka for the summer.” 

“Yay!” She throws her fist in the air, bouncing on the sofa again. 

“Why does she always do that” Yuuri laments in his breath with his hand rubbing his forehead. Viktor laughs, his hand going up and down his husband back in a comforting manner. 

“Anushka, can you calm down please?” he asks the little girl who tones down the bouncing, but looks at her Papa with a half sheepish, half impish smile that says it all about her intentions regarding obeying the plead. 

“Where is Madam Lilia?” Minami inquires, while Viktor pouts at not being listened to as fast as Yuuri is and Ana takes pity on him and sits back properly. 

“Probably finishing up in the kitchen,” Yakov replies as he brings his glass to his lips to drink a gulp of the beverage. Setting it down, he leans forward with his hand on his knees as trying to start getting up. “I should probably pour her a drink too before she roast me for not helping.”

As if on cue, Lilia props up in the stairs leading down to the living room and critically eyes her husband with such a stern face that he instantaneously freezes, leveling a wary glance at her. 

Her hands are on her hips, her gaze scanning the room with thinned lip. Yakov’s eyes are bugged out in morbid expectation of what was to come. 

Yuri makes sure to hide his sly smirk behind his hand to avoid being the next target. No thanks. 

Minami is shifting uncertainly next to him, unsure how to react facing the prima as he glances between the couple. Minami is the only one still walking on his tiptoes around the older couple, the rest of them no longer surprised by how they are around each other. 

Looking over to the sofa across the table, Yuri sees Ana looking at Lilia with such a reverent expression it’s almost enough to break his shield and burst out laughing. 

After all the years he has trained with these two, he has come to learn a thing or two about Yakov, and one of those is that Lilia is the one person he is genuinely afraid of. The fact that Ana is admiring Lilia for it, has something surprisingly funny to it. If he tries to forget the part about the little girl learning how to order everyone around her, obviously. That is worrying, if not utterly terrifying considering the hold she already has over all of them. 

“Yakov Matveiovitch Felstman” she emphatically says, her gaze unwavering. “Why don’t I have a drink?” 

No one dares pipe out a single word, despite all of them looking fairly relaxed. Well, despite Yuri who is still trying not to laugh, and Minami who has shrunk on himself with his eyes playing ping pong between the two. 

“Hum, I was just about to pour you one actually” Yakov stumbles on his words. 

“Were you really?” 

He visibly blanches. 

She hums, looking at him in a steely but expectant expression. Yakov remains still for a few seconds, and suddenly jolts up as if he suddenly enlightenment has just fallen upon him.

When he presents his back to the others, he reaches for a glass before kneeling to set the vodka, shaker and a shot glass on the counter. 

Lilia takes a seat next to Ana who shifts closer as to lean next to her Babushka, who wraps the little girl under her arm. “What were you discussing?” she asks rubbing her hand on Ana’s arm. 

Minami glances at Yuri with wide eyes, and the blond subtly wiggles his eyebrows up in confirmation. _Yes, she can switch from one extreme to the other, and it’s terrifying._ is what he means by the look.

“About our plans for the summer,” Viktor explains. 

Lilia nods in understanding before looking back to Ana’s face. “And you’ll be with us,” she smiles and pecks her nose with her finger. Ana chuckles and looks beyond thrilled. “I’ll be skating and dancing all summer!” she singsongs. 

Yakov turns back toward the rest of the assembly and set another coacher in front of Lilia who is following his every move with her eyes, as he settles her Martini on the table. When he swivels around to go back in his seat, her face immediately relaxes and a small laugh almost makes it past her lips. 

Ana snorts at the act her babushka just played on Dedushka, while Yuuri shakes his head with indulgence. These two could very well argue, or order each other around half the time, but underneath it all was this: an affection that wasn’t always visible but nonetheless always present and would manifest itself just like this, in the familiar teasing. 

“Thank you for the two olives” Lilia smiles at her husband, who shrugs lightly. 

“That’s what you always take with your Martini, and with vodka, not gin.” Her eyelids flutter shut a brief moment and reopen in show of her approbation. 

“By the way, Yuri,” Viktor intervenes, calling the attention of the blond, “you’re fine with going to Hasetsu this summer right?” 

“Sure,” he shrugs, “as if I’ll ever say no to go eat Katsudon.” 

Viktor gasps, positively offended. “Yuuri can make Katsudon!” he shoots. 

Yuri slowly leans back in his seat with a smirk, setting a hand on the armrest and the other one resting on his ankle propped up on his other leg’s knee. “Oh yeah sure, but his mother makes it better,” he retorts. 

Yuuri rolls his eyes in a playful manner when his husband gasps even more loudly than before. “Yuuri makes the best!” 

“No I don’t honey,” he laughs, rubbing Viktor’s knee. “But I suppose if my own cooking doesn’t satisfy you anymore YuriO, you’re welcome to try it yourself.” Yuri loses the attitude instantaneously and Viktor snickers triumphantly. 

“I like what Otousan makes!” Ana argues loudly, with a tone particularly commanding for such a little girl that leaves everyone else chuckling fondly. 

Yuuri ruffles her hair and kisses the top of her head. “Thank you An-chan.” And the little girl to throw a daring glance at Yuri with a sharp movement of her head to emphasize her point. The blond lets his head lean back in defeat. 

Minami straightens back a little, intervening to divert the attention away from his rink mate. “So, when will we be flying back to Japan?” 

“Probably after An-chan takes the train to go to the camp I suppose,” Viktor muses, a finger on his lip. He turns his head toward Yuuri, waiting for his input on the matter, but Yuuri stays silent, stroking Ana’s hair again and again. “Solnyshko?” 

“Hum?” 

“What do you think? We probably should fly back after Anushka goes to the camp, unless you thought differently,” he leaves his tone open in a question for Yuuri to answer.

A smile sets on his face, and he nods. “Yes, that should work. Right, An-chan?” 

“Haaaai!” 

“Alright,” Lilia says suddenly getting up, “let’s go to the dining room and have dinner.” She claps her hands twice upon seeing the rest of them not immediately move.

“Come on” her tone pressing. Misha has perked up at the sound, and is standing right next to Lilia, her tail wiggling, and her tongue darting out of her mouth in waiting for a new game. 

They all finally follow, with Ana literally running to the table with her puppy in tow. 

The dinner is blissfully uneventful, with all the parties chatting eagerly, passing around the food and pleasantly exchanging anecdotes. 

“I need help with the dessert, Yakov can you come and help me please?” Lilia finally says a while after they’ve finished eating. 

“Can the rest of you put all the plates together and the food scraps left in one plate so it’ll be easier to throw away?” 

Once again, if it is asked as a question, it’s not meant to be one, and none of them make the mistake to believe she is waiting for an answer. 

While the older couple leave the table, a joyful clatter of cutlery occasionally punctuated by the shrill creaking of a knife pressed too strong on a plate as one of them would set aside the scraps, eliciting protests from the others. 

“Damn it Minami, it’s the third time you’re doing that!” Yuri barks. 

“Hey! You did it too!” Ana accuses, pointing the fork she’s holding at him. Yuri ponderously slaps his hand on the table. “Maybe! But only once, and I apologized for it!” 

“No you did not!” she screams back. “You winced and muttered something not even a bat could have picked up on! That’s not an apology!” 

Minami pauses and frowns. “What do bats have to do with anything?” he asks, confused. 

Ana doesn’t seem to hear him, because Yuri shoots back immediately. 

“I don’t care! I still said it! And even so, it doesn’t change the fact that he should be more careful, that sound is the second most awful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Ana is taken aback. “Second thing? What’s the first?” she asks curiosity perking up, as if that was the most important thing she could have picked up from Yuri’s comment. 

He doesn’t seem bothered by the switch in topic though. “Your parents cooing at each other like two lovesick teenagers!” he grumbles, pointing his hand at them but refusing to look at their faces. 

“How in the world did we end up the one at fault here?” Viktor mutters while his daughter is choking on herself as she dissolves into a laughing fit.

“It’s taking a while to simply gather desert,” Yuri mumbles as he is standing up, and gathering all the plates together. 

No one comments but Viktor cast his glance sideways, leaning closer to Yuuri. 

“I need to ask you something,” he murmurs, and Yuuri immediately feels worry creeping up. “Don’t worry, it’s really not anything to be concerned about,” he is quick to add when he hears the sharp breath Yuuri hasn’t been able to stop himself from taking. 

He nods and Viktor continues, casting glances around the table to make sure neither Ana nor the younger skater is listening. “That’s probably the reason why they are taking that much time in the kitchen.” 

Yuuri’s feature fill up with question, now curious as to what his husband needs to tell him so urgently it cannot wait for them to be alone. 

“About the day after tomorrow…” he starts and seems unable to find what words should be said next. 

Yuuri’s face contorts into painful understanding. Viktor might have said it wasn’t anything to be concerned with, but he knows what topic is about to be broached up, and he also knows that’s the reason Viktor has been feeling distressed on and off all day, managing to hide it with more or less genuine amusement and enjoyment. And that’s reason enough to be concerned in his opinion, although he doesn’t let it show on his face. 

They are interrupted by Ana who is tugging at her Papa’s leave to draw his attention back to her. “Can I have water please Papa?” 

He quietly obliges after a moment of pause, and turning toward Yuuri once more. He looks like he is torn between speaking what’s been in his chest for seemingly a while, and doubting whether it is the right moment for it or not. 

So Yuuri does what he knows is best at the moment. Despite desperately wanting to be the anchor Viktor needs, he is also acutely aware that this isn’t the best place to demonstrate it. “It’s ok”, he says, his tone cleansed of everything but reassurance; “you can tell me later.” 

It’s obvious Viktor wishes he could tell him now, but Yuuri can see he will have a very hard time managing to verbalize whatever is on his mind. And even if he did manage more easily than expected, he’ll felt restless afterwards, not knowing whether the younger members of their table had heard what he confessed. 

Viktor relents though, not adding anything but simply shuts his eyes in lack of a better reaction. 

 

Back in the kitchen, Lilia has finished serving the vanilla ice cream next to the [caramelized chunks of apple ](https://chefcuisto.com/files/2015/10/pommes-caramelisee.jpg) , still hot from the oven, making a little exception in the skater’s diet. 

“So we’ll simply keep Anushka for two days then?” Yakov asks as he is gathering spoons for everyone. Lilia hums, and stills her movement to look at him. 

Sensing the change, Yakov turns around to look at her. “It’s affecting him much more than I thought or hoped it would have,” she reveals. 

He sighs, his shoulders going lump and the weight of his arms resting on the open drawer. He isn’t very surprised by her words and in fact he has been thinking more or less the same thing since he realized what date it was. 

“Well, I suppose that should be expected.” 

“What should?” she asks, confused. 

“How deeply it is affecting him,” Yakov simply elaborates, his tone softened from the edges it usually takes. “Even if he desperately wants to hide it, he isn’t as good at it as he used to be. Not since he’s met Yuuri anyway. The ten years anniversary was stressful enough that we should have expected it this time around.” 

She nods, her eyes stubbornly casted to the ground. She knows that, of course she does. She still had hoped that after ten more years, it might have healed better.  
Viktor had always felt everything so deeply, she figures she shouldn’t have been so naïve as to think he would get over what happened twenty years ago, and then ten years ago that easily. 

“Lilia, don’t beat yourself up over this,” Yakov says gruffly, but not unkindly. 

“Oi! Yakov! What in the world is taking so long?” 

Yuri is already stepping into the kitchen before all the words are out, his hands full with the dirty plates. “I’ve brought this back,” he says as he sets them all down on the counter next to the sink. 

“Thank you Yuri.” Lilia has already regained her composure, and takes the tray off a smaller version of the dinner table. “Can you bring this over to the others please.”

He doesn’t dare reply anything from his usual vocabulary at being asked to do something, and quietly takes the silver tray, letting out a breath as he realizes how much heavier it feels than it looks. The older couple doesn’t even exchange another glance before following the blond out to the dining room. 

 

They leave Ana with Yakov and Lilia that night, not parting without a series of tight hugs and kisses. The little girl looks delighted to spend not one but two nights with her Babushka and Dedushka and that’s all the reassurance either of her parents need. 

This time around, Yuuri is the one driving since he barely even finished his first drink, unlike Viktor and even if the silver-head isn’t even remotely close from being tipsy, they figure it’s always better to leave the wheel to the more sober of the two. 

They bring back Minami and Yuri to their respective apartments, before driving carefully to their home. 

Viktor is unsurprisingly silent during the entire trip, simply staring into nothingness despite his gaze being transfixed outside the window. Yuuri has been expecting it, and he doesn’t attempt to prompt his husband to talk. He knows it’ll come as soon as they’re alone in their home, warm and safe in the embrace of the familiar place. 

If he isn’t sure exactly what Viktor needs to tell him, despite knowing full well what it is about, and he feels almost relieved that they haven’t been able to finish the conversation surrounded by the younger skater and their daughter who probably has no idea why her Papa has been feeling off lately. 

As they make it to the driveway, Yuuri turns the engine off by pressing the ‘start’ button on the dashboard. His hand falls back on his thigh slowly, and he twists his upper body in order to face Viktor whose gaze has dropped. 

Yuuri sighs inwardly at the sight, wishing he could wipe away the pain settled across Viktor’s features, as if this was its natural and undeniable right to be there. 

Objectively, he knows that he cannot erase the demons that have been haunting Viktor since he was merely fourteen, nor battle the regrets poisoning his mind whenever a glimpse of memory claws its way back to the surface. 

He cannot do that for Viktor any more than Viktor can do it for Yuuri’s own demons. It doesn’t mean he’ll leave him alone in the fight though, and slowly he extends his hand, stroking the pale cheek with the edge of his curled finger. 

He feels Viktor subtly start at that, and Yuuri drops his hand once more, but unwilling to break physical contact, he simply goes to cup his shoulder and he can feel the trembling underneath his fingers. Viktor whips his head up, his silver bangs tousling as he moves. 

His blue eyes stare into Yuuri’s rich brown ones, as if he was looking for something. 

Viktor feels a painful lump forming in the back of his throat, and it makes swallowing difficult. He does though, because he knows that if he doesn’t the words will never come out, or his voice will crack up before he finishes his sentence. 

“I only want _you_ to accompany me on Sunday,” he blurts out. Yuuri’s breathe hitches at the confession. 

Of all things, this wasn’t what he had been expected to hear, nor that Viktor would decide to blurt it out at that specific moment. If anything he had thought they would be inside, warm on their couch and in each other’s arms, or at least close enough. 

Viktor’s expression has morphed into one of concern, as he dreads whatever answer Yuuri might provide him to that. 

Yuuri cannot help the ache in his chest at the realization that Viktor has been afraid of his reaction, for God knows how long. He cannot make out why, and he feels distraught to find that this is part of what has been eating Viktor up. 

“Oh Vitya…” he cannot help but breathe out. He can see unshed tears dancing in the corner of the eyes of the man next to him, and the ache reminds itself at him with every beating of his heart. “How could you think I would not accept that?” 

Perhaps asking that, of all things, isn’t the exact best way to reassure Viktor, but Yuuri needs to make sure that the other man knows. That he knows that Yuuri could never do anything to hurt his husband, and especially not in regard to the very thing that made Viktor so vulnerable. 

Viktor sniffs, his lips quivering and he can fill his eyes burning. 

“If that’s what you need Vitya, I will do exactly as you want,” Yuuri whispers, tilting his chin down and leveling his gaze in Viktor’s, hoping his eyes will convey all the sincerity Viktor needs to feel reassured. 

After a few agonizing waiting moment, Viktor exhales sharply in relief and he drops his head down and clenching his eyes shut. 

Yuuri’s eyebrows furrow in a stinging ache as he sees how Viktor has indeed been shackled by the fear that Yuuri wouldn’t approve of his demand. 

Hasn’t he told him earlier today that Viktor could be entirely honest? Hasn’t he told him countless times since they have met? Yuuri cannot help but feeling as though he has failed Viktor completely. He swallows back the feeling however, avoiding the thoughts to start their unwelcome but familiar spiral. 

Yuuri startles when Viktor speaks again, not having expected it so soon. “I just…” Viktor trails off, obviously at lost with his own words. His voice is hoarse, and Yuuri can see a few tears trailing down his cheeks. 

The hand still cupping Viktor’s shoulder tightens its grip slightly, and Yuuri starts tracing soothing circles with his thumb, silently showing they have all the time in the world and Viktor can take all of what he needs. 

“I just thought this time around would be easier,” he finally says, his voice somewhat stronger than it was mere moments before. Yuuri’s lips part, and he is about to protest once again that Viktor doesn’t have to play strong and that he should let himself feel however he needs to. 

Bottling up everything will do nothing but hurt longer and deeper. 

“I know what you said,” Viktor cuts in before any words can make it past Yuuri’s lips, which close shut as Yuuri waits for Viktor to elaborate. “It’s just that, I want it to be better,” he says, leveling a glance up to scrutinize Yuuri’s face.

“In many ways it has,” he continues, and Yuuri braces himself for what’s to come. “Every year, we go see them together, and every year it becomes easier. The ache dulls and the pain faints. That’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s the very reason why I got caught by surprise at how hard this would hit me this time around. And I didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

He waits a few seconds before saying the last sentence, and Yuuri tenses up at hearing it. Tilting his head to the side, shoulders slumping and involuntarily eyeing Viktor critically. 

It doesn’t escape Viktor, who rolls his eyes, frustratingly rubbing his eyes in a quick movement in frustration. 

“I know Yuuri, I know,” he groans a little harshly. It doesn’t surprise Yuuri who stays impassible. 

Anger is better than beating himself up, and at least it will help exteriorize the pain. “I know what you said. And I’m sorry, I really am. But...” he trails off once more, but this time the reason is clearly different. He looks like all the words want to rush out all at once, and he doesn’t look sure which one should precede the other.

“After what happened with Yura ten years ago, I didn’t want to take any chances and risk hurting anyone like that again,” he admits. “So when it came crashing down on me, my first instinct was to do everything I could to hide it. And all things considered, it seems like I failed miserably.” 

“What happened with Yuri wasn’t because you were overtly honest with your feelings Viktor,” Yuuri intervenes, shattering the argument forcefully. “If anything, it happened because you tried to hide them too well! You almost had me fooled, and I’m not gonna lie to you and pretend like it was nothing.”

Viktor takes in a sharp breath in disbelief at the words, but Yuuri doesn’t stop.

“But I _would_ be lying, if I were to tell you that all the blame lies on you. Yuri pushed all the right buttons to be sure. He didn’t know, how could he? But he did push, and he did twist the knife in the wound, even if unaware. But what did you do Viktor?” he allows himself a brief emphatic pause, marking his words and looking at his husband intently, his gaze piercing. 

“Instead of reaching out to me, or anyone really, you curled back on yourself, bottling everything up. No one suspected you were feeling like that, and can you even try and imagine how painful it ended up being for all of us when we realized you didn’t trust anyone of us enough to talk to us?” 

Yuuri is acutely aware that he is pushing it, but he follows the intuitive feeling nested in his gut telling him to shake Viktor up. He needs to hear Viktor’s concerns just as much as he hopes it will provide the silver-head with the release he needs to feel better. He is playing his only and best card, the burning desire Viktor has to shield his loved ones from anything – or anyone – that could potentially harm them. 

Objectively, Yuuri knows he is playing dirty, by throwing at Viktor the very thing he has been using as his defense. He brushes off the stinging feeling that twists his stomach when he takes in the look that Viktor is now displaying, looking utterly astonished as hurt flashes on his face. 

“I do trust you!” he forcefully exclaims, unable to conceal the creaking of his voice that has come back full force and no matter how hard he wants to fight the next wave of fresh tears, he knows he will not win. “I didn’t want to hurt you! And I know that I did anyway and I can’t bear it!” 

Viktor is heavily breathing, occasionally sniffing, and Yuuri has to resist the urge to wipe out the sorrow he reads in the wrinkle that Viktor’s frown has left on his forehead. The only reason he doesn’t, is still the same: he wants Viktor to exorcize his pain, or at least make a first attempt at it. 

“Back then, I wanted to avoid bringing Yuri into my mess,” he defends, “but I ended up making it worse, and now I know he is feeling responsible. Although he’s good at hiding it most of the time,” Yuuri snorts knowingly at that. It seemed to be a pattern. “You can’t blame me for wanting to leave Ana out of it, and trying to spare you more than I have.” 

Yuuri feels his heart clench in his chest. 

“I am not blaming you,” he says, his tone imbued with a sudden softness. “I want you to understand that you hiding how you feel is not sparing us the pain you don’t want to burden us with,” he explains slowly. “If anything, it’s making it worse. We still carry the burden but we don’t know what exactly it is we are enduring. Add to that the fact that we have to watch you suck it up like it’s no big deal while being on the verge of breaking point.” 

He pauses, feeling like the words are making their way through to Viktor’s mind. “I’d rather know what I’m worrying about. Vitya, don’t think I don’t understand what you mean, or the reason why you try to hide everything. We both know I do it way more often than I should considering I’m always the first to scold you for doing the same,” he adds with a subtly teasing edge to his voice, in the hope it’ll lighten the mood. 

It drags out an involuntary smile on Viktor’s face and Yuuri relaxes. “Like I said earlier, and countless times before that, I’m asking you to, please, come to me, talk to me. I don’t want to feel anxious about what you’re really holding up inside.” 

Viktor nods half-heartedly, looking up at Yuuri from his downward tilted head and behind the bangs falling in his eye. 

“What about we go inside now, hum?” Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s shoulder. “I’ll make tea, and then you’ll be the one helping me getting out of my head with Ana’s summer camp,” he suggests, his tone kept as light as possible as he offers a sweet smile to Viktor who is erasing the evidence of the last tears that have escaped from his eyes. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, nose plugged and grateful for the diversion. 

As they leave the car and make their way to the front door, Viktor reaches out to Yuuri’s hand, lacing their fingers together and holding tight like a lifeline.  
He’s not only grateful for the diversion, but also for Yuuri being Yuuri, and everything that it entails. And right now, it’s for him to feel unthinkably better than he thought he would have, and even if he knows it won’t be an easy couple of days, it’ll be incommensurably more bearable after what happened in the car, and for the fact that Yuuri will stay right there next to him, and ready to catch him his he stumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solnyshko: small sun (Russian term of endearment). 
> 
> Also, I realize that Misha is usually a name given to boys, and Ana's puppy is female; but the only reason I've decided to call her that is that one of my friend has named his dog like that, and she was the most adorable dog ever and my direct inspiration for Ana's puppy! :D  
> This is pretty much what I am picturing when thinking about [her](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sHI-912BHdM/UAMyUe7toeI/AAAAAAAAA6A/7te1jb2N_6Q/s1600/dog16a.JPG)


End file.
